Light
Your hands hold a match.
It is quiet in the small church. This late
there are many open seats.
They are ready to let you rest.
You kneel, because no one
is watching. I see you touch match
to flame, then touch it to your own wick.
That flare. That moment of intense
prayer, then the long ask of your
heart begins. He knows what comes
after please but you tell me so I will know too.
When you stand your hands are a little warmer
your face a little quieter. All the long night,
even after the rain begins, I watch your light.
The flame keeps vigil over your prayer
and I keep vigil over you. Even after
the wick falls quiet, even after the rain breaks.
(Published by Origami Poems Project in the micro-chap Letters to Mary)
Your hands hold a match.
It is quiet in the small church. This late
there are many open seats.
They are ready to let you rest.
You kneel, because no one
is watching. I see you touch match
to flame, then touch it to your own wick.
That flare. That moment of intense
prayer, then the long ask of your
heart begins. He knows what comes
after please but you tell me so I will know too.
When you stand your hands are a little warmer
your face a little quieter. All the long night,
even after the rain begins, I watch your light.
The flame keeps vigil over your prayer
and I keep vigil over you. Even after
the wick falls quiet, even after the rain breaks.
(Published by Origami Poems Project in the micro-chap Letters to Mary)