The duty of prayer

The duty of prayer                                                                      
 
I pray with clasped hands – one mine, the other, Yours.
“I’m closer than that!” You say.
 
Zacchaeus felt unworthy to pray
or to even be in Your line of sight,
 
wanting only to gaze upon You
passing with the crowd,  
 
hanging secret
and silent among the foliage.
 
But, You heard his heart’s prayer –
that moan of surrender, lifting
 
from the mat stretched out
on the floor of his chest.
 
From that high perch, he glimpsed,
the bounty of his own treasure house!
 
In prayer again, I imagine . . . You, passing in the street. 
Like Zacchaeus, I’m perilously balanced,
 
secret and silent, my mouth giving over
to the heart its sacred duty of prayer.
 
O child of God, hasn’t Meher told you?
God listens only to the language of the heart.