A prayer upon waking

I kneel over the Walden Pond in me,

a deep green Earth’s eye into which I see

the secret of the poet’s sacred art

of striking at the stone to find the heart.

With pen and pad I rise to walk the land,

whose pleas roll through my soul and out my hand.

I’ll speak for love though I am deeply flawed.

I’ll rise and pull the nails from long-lost Gods.

I’ll roam and claim no cabin of my own,

content to bleed my feet dry over stone.  

I’ll crouch, I’ll claw, with wild things I’ll feed,

and gnaw through bone and marrow straight to me.