Keeping Time During Prayer ✼ ; 

June 2025 (♊︎)

watching a bee not pollinate but pray in the middle of a flower

at rest but also focused

relaxed but also an embodiment of new beginnings

i know that time is elusive and circle-like

slippery ice cubes, stings and latches onto my tongue but jumps from my hands to crash land into crevices collecting debri, talking

time is felt and escapable like that

i wonder what time this bee keeps [?]

how time stings them? 

how long it will pray for?

if our measurements of time even adds up [??]

when i pray i leave my body here _________________________________[*stomp*on earth_floor]

i tell it to keep watch, hold my place for attendance

in case someone was ever looking

but i dont pray for long because when i am certain about my heart

the universe echos all of me

and i like to be witness

finding my dna among chlorophyllic salads, my saliva is the glue that keeps this mta train together

i am all of me, drenched

i am matter that moves like motion picture typography,

be witness

i can be so lost but certain about my bpm that

my thoughts become words repeated outside of me

like i’ve been bufffering,,,, , ,,, ,, ,

feeling

i sew myself onto iconography that silences my mind

the string i use is brittle, dried, braided bone marrow collected from my past selves

they want to be traceable like barcodes, swapped like friendship bracelets

altogether held

the universe is becoming. and is often so interrupted within nowness

i am jealous of the universe's nowness so i pray by writing

i can’t believe i am conscious of the universes nowness so i stop reading

i flirt with the nowness by revisiting

i also pray to be funny and less moody incse you were wondering

i often pray when i’m anxious but lately i’ve been praying to reel things back to me

things not lost but drifty. things borrowed and pretended

floaty things, made out of the matter of bubble

⎯delicate shiny matter, these things love to roam and worry me

i can’t think about it for too long then i start to see how i dance borrowed

how i suggest a pretended certainty in my walk

every-direction i face being a holographic compass,

weightless isn sorrow

how i practice nowness in my prayer

in my calling things back to me

it’s breathe-ey and humid, and life is a tropical downpour

only now i wish to leash it all into a dry suffocation 

a nothing voided pause

but the bee is done praying now

takes flight and leaves me watching with cautious eyes

i’m sitting with a beating heart

wondering what’s my equivalent to taking flight?