prayer for poets

i wonder

if words wander off our tongues like lost hearts searching for their soul-mates,

and maybe my pen could quench their longing,

and maybe poets are really matchmakers -- writing unions onto paper aisles--

waiting,

hoping beauty may be birthed therein

i wonder if prayer is the only perfection of this art

where married words hold hands,

flow like golden ink into the vessels of papyrus hearts

their grip firm and old as constellations

but ever-changing

wombs so ripe they could nurture all God's children to so(u)lace.

feeding the ocean their tears through placenta river deltas

i wonder if prayer is the only perfection of this union

because in its arms lay latent a hundred different ways for words to kiss,

for hands to praise,

for tears to dry

on a hundred thousand different shades of cheek

so

in our language and with our hand let us pray the night away. // and if the pen moves let it move and Thank God, and if it does not, let it not,

and Thank God.