Do prayers truly reach Your throne room
being half-asleep, much like the glass
half-empty / half-full
chosen wisely
the cup, overflowing
with water turned to wine.
The miracle of Your grace
saving the choicest fruits of the vine
wedding guest handiwork
in this undeserved union
meeting You at the altar anyway
with all that we’ve got
clothed in rags, thinking we’re dressed
in our Sunday best.
Defrocked of our self-importance
to truth
and shedding our snaky old wineskins
for new.