For Rain, for Winter, for God

You pray, but not for yourselves.
Thousands of years, now, you’ve had
The sense you’ve started something

Somehow beyond your control.
Could it just be memory?
Your individual feel

For having pushed or prodded
Something that started falling
Or suddenly rolled away

And out of your reach, too fast
For you to catch or stop it?
Maybe it’s all personal

Helplessness you remember
Here, watching your wildfires race,
Jumping all the lines you’ve cut.