h1

poem 4: prayer

April 5, 2007

I sit here, naked,
   barely waked and wet
Feeling out the frist rays of dawn
   amidst the dark of the last day.
I sit her, pondering you
   plural,
How it is you are.

How you rise out of every root
   every branch and bud,
   leaving your fragrant presence.
And with it a power
   for change or stewardship.
You reach out a petaled hand
   as if to ask us to be flowers too.
You present a stymied topography,
   a planted yard
And ask if we even want to
   protect this beauty.

Last night, I dremt of wildflowers,
   so, yes, I do.

You offer a branch to sit on,
   and we do.
You offer a ray to shine in,
   and we do.
You offer a cat to stroke,
   and we do.
Even the least of us do.
Even the most of us do.

And we are thankful.

I rest, still clothed,
   smelling of a long day,
   kneeling before a candle.
I know the moon is full,
   I feel it.
And i sit, eyes closed,
   listening to internal music
And wonder at you.

Wonder at the brief breezes
   of the evening
   that caress the hair of my arm
The jostling touch of night,
   the tanning by moonlight
Wonder at the sight of
   the squirrel that looks down on me,
   imposing,
Yet, I know a knowing eye.
And the rains that have fallen around us
   shawling our shoulders in good cold.
Such chills are signs of your presence,
   which we don’t rebuke.

You tell us secrets while we sleep,
   and we keep them.
You offer us visions of peace by day,
   and we keep them.
You show us children who need love,
   and we keep them.
Even the most of us do.
Even the least of us do.

May I have my health, blessed be.

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One comment

  1. “I rest, still clothed, smelling of a long day”

    and

    “Yet, I know a knowing eye”

    so lovely….



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