ALTAR In My Room
Three small flames are lit.
St Francis, Picasso and my grandmother's rain poem sit on the table.
The medicine bag from Ghost Ranch and some good papers from a wise woman.
This life is hard with fewer and lessened moments of joy.
I sit on the prayer bench Nate made and commit my crap to God's care.
Tired of it all.
Asking to be filled with spirit beyond myself.
Joy, not of my making.
Quiet mystery in this small space on the lamb rug, this grey rainy morning in April.
