Praying To My Thimble

I was angry
because I forgot about my role
as life itself
as the finger of God
feeling the world
and then my anger seemed silly,
I even laughed
at how petite my anger was
like a thimble of water
to an ocean.

And there I am, holding
NO, cherishing my thimble
amidst the plenty of eternity
cupping in, as if in prayer
while waves lap
constant
forever
now available
to soak into me everything it is possible to need
and, If I knew better, to want.

But alas, there I am
praying to my thimble
and growling low
at all who come near
and all I imagine.

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