Evening Prayer

the world stops at the door,

or so you will it;

the familiar table set,

a fortress buttressed by splotched cutlery.

that our dishwasher is failing

yet another sign from this new universe

of assumptions as quaint luxuries;

so many givens, taken.

the dog greets you, plush soccer ball between his teeth,

in observance of your weekday ritual.

you sink, all fours, to the rug,

to play at prayer.