Is one of those rare
Hawk-holds-breath moments:
When the sky sits still
On the lies and ribs
Of the grey horizons;
Before wind stirs,
Before moon rises …
When, invisible and sublime
A minstrel bird in ancient tree
Gives the peace-to-all prayers
That day’s end deserves;
That invite us to take as much
As we need for hurting selves –
And a little bit extra
To spread around.


To A Different God.

Paper tide covers rock,

Scissors halve the paper,

Spiders will defeat the ape-king,

And, on their day,

The lowliest of pawns will

Take the blue-blood queen.


Some prayers go

Where they’re meant to go;

And some

To a different god.