I put a message on the wind
and helium high as it rose
adding my breath to God’s,
blew into the liquid air.
I begged the wings of birds
and supplicated the pappi of dandelions
all to carry, all to float
the pneuma of my prayer, gift to kings:
O God! Heal my brothers from their
weapons
and my sisters from their pain.
Turn the heat of rage into radiant love, piercing
every chambered heart.
Add strength to my love’s quest to stand fully in Thy light.
For my daughter forge that link to her sister, 30 years an angel.
That my sons should break the caul which holds them, two translucent cells away from the pure air.
Give me grace to write such words
as would glorify Thee
To sing in notes that hearts play
when Thy great Name dances in the atoms;
To carry seedlings in these paper hands which shall
root
so strongly root
to hold aloft their righteous small corner
of the Tent.
And the wind said yes. The wings were strong with pearls of light,
beating.
The dandelion counseled patience, looking to the end of things
«Scatter seeds; the universe will
grow them.»
Thus above, the clouds shouldered each other aside, breaking the sun from the prison of winter.
Springtime.