Morning Prayer

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

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

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

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

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