Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the back bear?
Who made the grasshopper, I mean
the one who flung himself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down,
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and flies away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down