A Prayer

Lord have mercy on the small walks I've taken late at night,
when stars pricked my skin like rain,
when I prayed with the breath of the wind,
when somehow I knew that I was nothing and everything,
living, moving, having my being here, in this wind, suspended.

Lord have mercy on the small people who created me:
my grandfather's canyon-cragged face,
my grandmother's shock of white
and the way her breath spun golden worlds at my bedside,
my father's tears, my mother's sigh, my brother's clenched fist.

Lord have mercy on all those who mourn,
on all those whose tears flow fast and silent:
comfort them with the breath of your wind
sighing at the edges of their souls,
just beyond touch, just beyond reach.
Wrap us, Lord. Make us whole.