May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
~ from The Four Immeasurables
And in that tale, like bits of broken teeth,
like gems or brittle tears, a thousand grains
are spilled upon dark ground. Because the soul
looked full upon love’s face, it now must count
and gather, harvest shredded wool among the bramble,
stitch its craft of mortal longings to the impossible.
The stars, as always, withhold commentary.
Only the blossoms along the fence offer
sweet worth, stubborn hope; the thorns,
their pointed epistle: I wound to heal.
In response to thus: Night prayer.