Copyright 2017 Don Ray
It is of course worship, desperate, frantic, clinging worship.
It is worship of a memory, a past and prescient and present memory,
a memory alone in its nature,
a memory ineffable.
It is merely worship,
worship pure and distilled,
worship clumsy and groping;
worship of the unknown,
worship of the uncertain,
worship born of faith undeniable,
that kernel of faith left when all that once passed for faith has dissolved away.