You summoned me this morning
To peel and chop potatoes.
The grey light sieved through earthbound clouds
Poured in like smoke from some far cold
Censer, dripping with perfume of ground smell.
The radio declared your heavenly praises
Behind the thop thop of knife through tuber
And scratch of plastic, blade and board.
Every day has its own divine vision, plan, recipe
Every day Your breath moves through us and before us
Today the word descends: paprika, yogurt, butter, smoke
Today the message is declared: Holy is the Lord
The earth is full of His glory.