[Today, I wrote to the prompt from Two Sylvias Press, more or less, but my mind was on its own somewhat undisciplined path, today.]

to see the sky
the hawk needs
only her own
mineral lens

to pound the keys
the woman needs
only her own
weed fingers

to work the land
the man needs
only his own
tree strength


this vision is not
never only but
knotted together
blind sight
written silence
strong weakness
black and white
one not evil
not through the universe
the other not good
not through the future

to live is need
to die is want
to see is dark
to write is silence
to work is rest
coming going
in out
up down

Can we encompass all?

more fits
than knots
thanks be for color hopes
flowers bloom through war
christ crosses rise on green grass

Christians claim Saturnalia
for their own
sing of stars, God’s grand design
though the dark planet
continues circled in crystal rings
pagan on parade ages old

Christians cry foul
when others celebrate
though light finds every crack
though dark cares not
for doctrine

prayers are the bits and pieces
that win wars
while money repairs plantations
of greed
in internet fantasy worlds
of good grades
and saddled dragons
slaying evil

At my desk I type my prayers
in my husband’s repair shop
watching TV
in front of our fireplace
I pray
for beating old swords
into new plowshares
for lions and lambs together
for Amish simplicity
for a son in Austin
a grandson in Summit
for children everywhere

for peace
for life
for truth
waiting to become
waiting to come
into the wholeness
of me

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