Prayers like dry leaves

I have been collecting
prayers.
They are sweet -
even the ones
that rattle like bones
and sound like
echoes and
dry leaves.
Even those,
I catch them on the wind
and the tip of my tongue,
where they melt like fear
Or sin,
and I can taste their
Bursts of glory.
Sometimes they drift,
lighting on my skin,
where they wait,
in silent insistance,
for me to notice their gentle
kiss.
I collect them all,
let them slide and
tangle through
my fingers
like silk, like
rope -
all those dry,
rattley,
echoing bones
of grace
and sweet glory.
I savor their blessings
and sing.