Thursday Poem - Epiphany

Lynn Schmidt says
she saw You once as prairie grass,
Nebraska prairie grass,

she climbed out of her car on a hot highway,
leaned her butt on the nose of her car,
looked out over one great flowing field,
stretching beyond her sight until the horizon came:
vastness, she says,
responsive to the slightest shift of wind,
         full of infinite change,
         all One.

She says when she can't pray
She calls up Prairie Grass.

Pem Kremer