I No Longer Pray

I no longer pray— 
now I drink dark chocolate 
and let the moon sing to me.

I no longer pray—
I let my ancestors dance 
through my hips
at the slightest provocation.

I no longer pray—
I go to the river
and howl my ancient pain 
into the current.

I no longer pray—
I ache, I desire,
I say “yes” to my longing.

I no longer pray as I was taught
but as the stars crawl
onto my lap like soft animals at nighttime 
and God tucks my hair behind my ears 
with the gentle fingers of her wind
and a new intimacy is uncovered in everything,
perhaps it's that I’m finally learning 
how to pray.