…Prayer…
By the long light, the sigh of whispers…a tip of prayer forms a wind of sound and though there be furies and the despair of journeys they abate for a moment…for a time, your time, to be with what you call a creator.
The time intentful, like shadows reaching through windows; the breaths of passion; no anxiety at being witnessed – held and soothed by that kind of warmth that is so comforting – as are the hands of good friends…
Then the mile and the mountain, the collapse not unforeseen – but neither anticipated to be taking place at the intersession of the holy; in the presence of the ineffable – wind on moon lakes, fish sleeping…
You, all the while you praying to become something other; more – better or greater – lovable and agreeable, but angels, if you want to name them this, wish only that they could trade places, to be as gods like you, breathing.
(For My Daughter Katherine)
I love how complex yet simple your words are. Beautiful. Hope you are well. Kim