Sun on your face closes your eyes
and you are absent for awhile – white
beams brush your cheeks and chin,
blind and gentle blessing on your
empty brow. Is it

enough to pray this way,
naming nothing
under the ether of sky,
bringing open palms empty,
a delta of lifelines,
burden of years, new grass bent
by another morning’s due?

Once, amends were made;
questions torn at the sleeve, sewn up,
erased in seamless thread.
Rest. It’s early yet – just dawning.