A Cousin of A Prayer

Sometimes I have to put her words down
because they feel like something
 I've been holding all my life

Not as easy as the summer beach
Not as tired as an overcast day
but she offers flight over pain
Sand and slow rain


the kind that will always show up later
in pockets, and shoes

frozen,
in the forgotten crevices of winter blues

the kind that will walk in without wiping its feet
and never apologize for leaving traces
of where it has been or what it knows

The kind that only a garden grows

Not gospel
But a cousin of a prayer
somewhere between
 heavy breath and light air

She destroys all indoor sources of time
forces me to rely on the sky
to tell me where my shadow should be

I forget lessons I've read,
the time I wake,
or went to bed.
Too often a dying memory
 makes a widow out of me

But I never forget a feeling
Emotions tend to pile themselves on top of me

And she's the only thing
that could ever set me free

If you see her around,
Pay attention.

Her name is Poetry.