Let us try what it is to be true to gravity,

to grace, to the given, faithful to our own voices,

to lines making the map of our furrowed tongue.

turned toward the root of a single word, refusing

solemnity and slogans, let us honor what hides

and does not come easy to speech. The pebbles

we hold in our mouths help us to practice song,

and we sing to the sea. May the things of this world

be preserved to us, their beautiful secret

vocabularies. We are dreaming it over and new,

the language of our tribe, music we hear

we can only acknowledge. May the naming powers

be granted. Our words are feathers that fly

on our breath. Let them go in a holy direction.

Jeanne Lohmann, Invocation

Here’s my interpretation: We speak words, but like feathers blown by our breath, our words do not always do what we hope. Others may take them wrongly, and though spoken from the best of intentions, they do not always communicate the message we intend. Thus, the poet’s prayer is that the words “go in a holy direction,” that they serve God’s purpose.

Cheers,

Bruce

Be careful little mouth what you say for the Father up above is looking down in tender love. Engage brain before opening your mouth.