a prayer,
this fog before
the dawn, crunchy
leaves so light
on the old elm
ignites wildfire
in the blue hour
dry | scattered
who couldn't
let go
and awakened
full but still thirsty
before the sun
could release
the moon's edge.
Like a river
effortlessly, truth
takes many turns
and hand-over-hand in
darkness, thoughts:
soot and smoke
on the water,
pray a choice
of stillness
despite.
And of freedom, a
life not owned
by shadow,
shake
instead like all things
shocked must do
as all living is shocked
until nothing of old
leaves any ember
that may spark/
even hope
and the cruelty
or the way
smiling
can be a rebellion
when loved have gone-
pray any fire,
a peacemaker
if the rebellion
must go on.
And for the wailing cat
hungry mouth
and mangy
coat
too messy
to grow love
or to have a
warm hand
upon it,
pray, too;
for daisy chains,
crowns on would-be
princesses and princes,
for baby frogs in pencil
cases, and lizards
clamped on
sweaty
ears
because
the children's play
is survival
and to smile at the abyss
at its ferocity, then
because we are fierce,
the same.
But, pray especially
for paper dolls
torn with rough edges,
the square pegs
in round holes
that they know
who they are
and are curious
of what they are not-
a rain held as it grows
having been brave
to accept their
beauty,
and that of others/
knowing need.
Pray for the thirst
the blue hour
sparks
every line of every
hill, clear as the
moon’s edge
when the sun so close
will soon arrive
or soon go,
a time to shake free.
skipping stones 