Agnostics Prayer

Agnostic's Prayer

From the hillside I see the flock.
Stones with feet pulling their burdened
Forms across the landscape
Casting eyes to a figure whose shadow
Is no comfort or friend.

Pushing and shoving for some position
In the mud of belonging, of believing,
They huddle waiting for a tone of knowing
Comforted by their closesness.

Here on the hill the starry heavens
A riddle of sensation
Marks the hours
As we tumble in the universe
Drying out our primeval wetness.