Small and hidden away, an intercessor
prays for you. She rings the bells of
heaven with her voice. Let your goodness
be seen. Speak. Sing. Praise. Awaken.
A whisper. A scream.
Prayers are like lightning, shots in
the dark, arrows into the heart of what
separates us. They are a child's voice interrupting the disputes of adults.
We have many disputes, our two lands,
don't we? All of them are foolish.
Suddenly, a wave roars this way, the
sweeping move of every ocean, all at
once from all directions. It is a shout
to her whisper, a hush to her scream,
and then she sees. She is praying for
you, but you are praying for her.