Wonder is the Prayer

a sonnet

by Audrey Elledge

In the clear morning, I slip from my husk.

By happenstance, I have caught the quiet

entrance of day. The press of dawn, the musk

of salted wings, the vigor of new light

stir what has long been sleeping. I want to

give thanks, but words feel too brief. My palms swing

upward, in that posture of praise, but who

could fill these empty hands? What kind of string

of old letters could name what has surged,

could capture what has crested and settled

in me? What outstretched arm would not purge

and desecrate this scene? Why would I meddle?

When one witnesses eternity’s glare,

no response compares to wonder as prayer.