Krause starts with a bold claim: the universe is liquid, so it can fill any container. The rest of the poem tests that idea on ordinary things. A pick-up football game, a blade of grass, the ball itself: each one, the speaker says, holds everything.
The tone is playful at first. The ball seems delighted to be "kicked around," and the grass drinks dew from its shaded face. Then the poem zooms in. The grass becomes a "microscopic, self-sufficient city," and the ball's pattern becomes "an elementary truth with unfathomable significance." The speaker seems to feel wonder, with a light sense of humor mixed in.
The mood is calm, curious and a little dreamy, which fits the title's hint of a trance-like prayer. The short final line, "the universe fits," lands like a quiet "amen." It suggests that something huge can be found in the smallest, most casual moments, if we look closely.