How good are your beach blankets,
O Yaakov --
your shaded pavilions, Yisrael!
And I, in Your great kindness
stand on packed sands
at the edge of Your sea.
Wholly One, I love Your house:
this place so drenched in Your presence
even overworked people feel it!
I bow into endless waves
(Your face, Your embrace)
and You wash over me.
And I -- I am my prayer.
In the rush of Your waters
reshape me like tumbled glass.
This poem riffs off of Mah Tovu, which you can find on the right-hand side of this two-page spread. For some wisdom about the prayer, here's a piece at ReformJudaism.org.
(And no, I didn't find all that seaglass -- or any seaglass! I found the photo on the internet. I've found a few shells and some smooth pebbles, though... and the seaglass felt like the right metaphor for the moment.)