on this Sunday morning
I could not bear a sense of
being bound in the wordy, veneered in
pilfered affirmations or vagrant passages, so, I
stood at the window. My eyes
coursed along coyote tracks
left in the snow; a drifting mosey, northerly and
braided. The wolf of the prairie had
skulked in a stillness lit
by the moon adorned with Australia’s daylight.
My helping spirit had passed in the night
to remind me
he is on this burdened earth
in this moment, striving. I took my
rightful place in the universe.