Morning Prayer
Be in my fanciful meanderings
Be in my midnight glide on a
silver moon beam carpet slide
up and up I slip across the
black tree fingers of the very next pine lined ridge
Up and up I sail to my friend
the white hot crescent
cool night moon
cool night moon
Be in the spine of my cat as
I perch myself
upon the very tip of the last
long black prick hair
on his slow curling twitch-twitch tail
and as I find myself in the dull glint
on his slow curling twitch-twitch tail
and as I find myself in the dull glint
of his slow moving yellow eyes
open wide
and watching
Be in the hint of gleaming light
as it peek-peeks
out from behind
my five year companion the Looking Glass Tree branch
as it plays its own game with me
as it plays its own game with me
yes my game an early morning
game
trying as it would to cover
up my (other) sweet friend
my white hot bright morning star
yes my morning
star of the east
my own yes my very own
rising up game
that I play
Be in the ill-tempered Appalachian
wind
as it rises and it builds
piling up full out on the ridges below
piling up full out on the ridges below
and then letting loose like a
mini swarm of sometimes ill-intentioned
climbing well weighted down Mack
trucks
They race-roar their engines
steady they go
up and up to reach the summit
of this my fair mountain—
causing the dog to turn her
head
and me to brace my body
Be in the folds of his gray-white
beard
that he strokes
softly
then slowly
again as he lies pressed down
on his sickbed
where he waits patiently
for a touch from
dear
sweet one Jesus
and the medication
Be with the man
my man
husband of more than 20 years
alone in the next shade
of an off white room
© Karen Powell
© Karen Powell
