Morning Prayers                                                

            I think you get the picture –
            Still life, apples,
            Pointillism, morning light

            From the perfect distance
            Three crisp jesters
            Ready to be juggled,
            Closer up
            The strangest kind of map –
            Brambles, thickets, slippery dew,
            Even a mirage 

            I prefer to pick our way
            Not looking back –
            I know enough of leaves
            And unguents, brine, decay,
            The savagery of power –
            Nor searching for a resting place
            Except to pause before
            The carcasses of beauty
            Listening for a still small voice

            We can never say enough
            Whether the prayer is brief,
            Something to repeat
            Over and over to each other,
            A tough cloak spun

            Or better yet
            Is made up
            As we go along


            Emanuel E. García, Wandering Bark2013