Emerging by RS Thomas

Not as in the old days I pray, God.
I would have knelt long, wrestling with you, wearing you down.
Hear my prayers, Lord, hear my prayer.
As though you were deaf, myriads of mortals have kept up their shrill cry,
explaining their silence by their unfitness.

It begins to appear this is not what prayer is about.
It is the annihilation of difference, the consciousness of myself in you, of you in me;
the emerging from the adolescence of nature into the adult geometry of the mind.
I begin to recognise you anew, God of form and number.

I know at least 2 other poems by R.S. Thomas with this title
– perhaps it shows how difficult and slow the emerging process is.