Praying

This year I made any "weed" welcome behind my house.
Mary Oliver's poetry has become a favorite of mine. 
In a poem she calls simply "Praying," she writes,

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
                                 (Thirst, p.37)