©2021 Michael Raven

the ghosts of three a.m.
haunt me with their regrets
tension aches pulling
muscles taut roping knots
thrumming humming nerves
singing electric and deafening
in the silence of the night

memories of a
church not built with hands
in the fields and cliffs and forests
winds and arms sunlight waving
and dark storms, those too
especially those too
fingers gliding across forearms
sending hairs on end
kneeling for
prayers and worship at
soil-stained feet
heather cotton shift
-- sunlight trickles in

the timeless days, those...
lost, now, to the tumbling
vagaries of dream
leaden and left wanting
until those days we
then shuffle off to
those shadowed borderlands
beyond the wall of sleep

2 thoughts on “prayer/

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