Rest me.  
Rest me.  
Rest me.  

Rest my blurring. 
Rest my insomnia. 
Rest my fever.  

Now that I lost mine 
give me a name.  
Give me your name.  

Replace  
this smudged  
oblivion. 
Give me a face.   

Wash it  
kiss it 
with your forgiveness.  

It is your face.  

Give me light 
heaps of light  
a wheatfield of light.  

Don't let me fumble 
invisible 
in the blindness of others.  

In my own blindness. 
Heal me 
of my absence.  

You are the one who continues. 

You are the bridge 
of wet 
cobblestones 
with a dove  
and a morning 
on the parapet.  

Continue me. 
 
I pray to you. 

Of the infinite things 
you can do today 
choose to be. 

______

from The Loving Question, December 2024