Before religion became the strange color

Before religion became the strange color
of the eleventh hour which we all know
mysteriously reflected on clear water,
it was the motion itself. She moves now
and then among the bright sphere's power
articulating something, and breathing so
slowly she seems like a blossoming flower
or a heavy, undulating thundercloud.
Let my teaching fall like gentle showers
on new grass, let my speech be the proud
plants giving their ear to the very hour
the ridiculous name of god was shown.
But I publish the great name of another,
and ascribe you wide heavens that glow.