What does it mean when I ask you to pray for me?

Awaiting tomorrow
A moment of weakness has
brought me to the brink of fear,

the place where I can feel
the uncertainty of life directly
beside me, directly before me

and some change is on the verge
of driving into
my consciousness.

I feel the weight of worry
the pressure of dreams
steadily descending

but, when I call out
and ask you to pray for me,
to lift me up in your consciousness
to share the power of
a lifetime of sunrises
with me--

It is only because
I still see a glistening beneath
the falling stone
and it is your light I see,
radiant and fresh.

When I ask you to pray
for me...
I won't tell you what
words to use.
Your language is unknown to me
but, I will feel the door
you open,
the slow hiss
of a new born wind
between the stone fissures.

I will be freed as I walk through
and your power
will continue to work its way
into granite and sandstone.

When I ask you to pray for me
I am not trying
to push you to your
knees.

No, but I can bow down
palms flat to the earth
breathing in the sweet scent of fresh
grasses
the taste of dirt and
dried leaves
and earthworms
filling my mouth.

When I ask you to pray for me...

I hope you will immerse yourself
in our world,
to smell it and feel it
and hold it with me...
to taste it and savor it.

Our strength combined stretches
across the cracks
and we can sing together
in silent reverence
repeating a wordless prayer
remembered,
recalled,
retrieved from our bones.

Lost Child

Out of the corner of my eye
I see you standing there
hair moving with the breeze
some stickiness from your last
snack on your soft cheeks

wafting across from there to here
I smell your oatmeal
and brown sugar scent

I can almost catch
the sound of your
breath,
light and even

 I reach out
to pull you close
and I find
my arms embracing
emptiness

Drifted

I have lost you to the world. It has taken you away and even though I was looking and ready to lock the gate against the assault of new ideas, louder voices, closer ties, I failed.

You have walked forward and into the dawning of the next phase. A momentary remembrance of the songs we once sang have stopped you from saying good bye, but I feel the words in the air.

Oh how I long to lure you back with a witty story, an outrageous joke or even pitiful tears...but I have lost my magic. There is no need to hold my hand...

it is too cold.

Covered

From within a well
of sweltering rage
I find my rhythm to
fly, feel, flow
forward.
I race up
but still
I falter,
sinking
down.

Trapped under
a blanket of despair
holding me in darkness
yet keeping iciness
at bay,
my soul is protected
from the frigid waters
of
indifference.

Painted Turtle

pausing
you rest upon
the damp,gray log
warming in
the sun
raising your head
sharing your serenity
open to my
gaze
but still
hidden
across the bog
beneath your shell

Our life

When the rain is falling
and the stones are wet

If the streets are crowded
with uneven squares

As the laces drag
off the edge
of my shoes

In the darkness
before the alarm

Pressing into sheets
enriched with your
scent

In the stillness before
first breath

I am held
by our life
together

We are held
together
by our life

Mother's Sorrow

Streaming from
eyes
remembering,
reliving

peace,
a wish
a hope
a dream

arms wrapped
soft lips pressed
to forehead
just once
more

part of me
gone from
seeking fingers
living in
my
soul