Prayer

If some are born to sweet delight and some
are born to endless night
, where is the noon
where they might crisscross paths? A sparrow
tumbles from the eaves and auto-corrects
its flight. O wind, perilous as the pulleys that work
their hidden influence on our journeyings,
be gentle on these frail, tired wings.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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