The internet may be a gift from God,
As the Pope says, a utility
We can manipulate but not see,
Neither tangible nor abstract, an odd
Reality we can demonstrate
But not touch, invisible as space
But informing all around us. Like grace?
Something we use but never really understand.
At meetings now, before our working day begins,
We sit with our heads bowed and stare,
Backlit breviaries in hand,
Rocking in a pantomime of prayer.