Acts of Devotion

I have always been obsessed with 'devotional poetry', poetry to a sort of a God (not a Judeo-Christian one), but to something more essential, more intrinsic, more.... Sometimes prayers to the day, to each morning (Annie Dillard), but sometimes with more fire (Sufiism-- heartbreaking pyre, burning of the self for the 'other'..). Over the years I keep switching from morning prayers to a Himalayan blue sky to evening rivers of fire & wine (Rumi). In my ongoing collection of such poems (like strung prayerbeads), I have become entranced with rituals I cannot necessarily name.

from The Magellanic Clouds by Diane Wakoski

IV

On the very top
of a  mountain
I have struck a gong,
1800 names are written on it
and drop to the world like a handful of sequins.
1000 of those names are yours,
who take many shapes,
have many lines,
voices, breaths,
names.
The mountain is a rock.
The mountain is snow.
The mountain is my
home.
I do not know how to offer you
anything greater:
praise not on your ground
but on mine.

(from 'The Acts of Devotion')