A Letter from St. Patrick to his Father, written in his head

I have begun
to learn
to pray

Now I see
that prayer
is not
a wooden
fence I try

to build. Rather it is
the chink
the splinters
of the wood,

that widens
when the sheep
lean blindly
against it,
and whistles
when the wind

sears through it;
a note sounds clear
into the air.


Published in Sehnsucht: the C.S. Lewis Journal, 2014 edition

Copyright: Meredith Moench