I walk through these days

not seeking to be perfect

but to be true--

to open the shutters of my heart

and let the light of Hashem pass through.

In every breath of morning mist,

in every crack of my voice

when I say Hineni,

I know:

You are not in the sky alone.

You are the quiet beside the river.

You are the stillness after tears.

I have tried to carry

every stone of shame,

but You are not the weight--

You are the water

that calls it to soften.

In the space between my prayers,

I remember who I am:

not broken,

only opening.

I build no walls for You.

No gilded ark, no golden dome.

My prayer is this:

bare feet on moss,

a birdcry,

the hush before rain.

Hashem, if I am a temple,

then every tree is a witness,

every star a lamp.

You made the world for holiness

to hide in plain sight--

and I am learning how to see.