Last night you left a crust of prayer
on the edge of the table,
crumbs discarded all over the place,
forgotten needs, needless explanations,
hopeless tirades, songs without purpose.
And yet, and yet.
Chirps accompany your waking up
and chirrups. And clicks and tweets
and happy taps on the windowpane.
Sunlight caresses the leaves,
rustling wind sets the pace of the new morning,
deafening crickets are loudly, persistently
announcing a hot day.
It’s a good thing for some people,
a bad thing for some,
thirst being relative and lust being,
by nature, finite. You breathe, slowly,
daily bread. Then,
you make your hand into a fist,
you grab what you can
and make it your secret, your stash of hope.
The Angels envy your resilience,
their shadows move across the landscape,
when all is good with the world.
~ April 2012