Empty prayer

I gather this earth into the mouth
of wind. I am a song of the

goddess. O mother of gods. I sang
the southern ditty, a dust mote in

the sun. Come to me, eternal Muse,
your music humbles me. The gay day

is turning white with laughter, the
blush of flowers birthing rainbows

on bee wings. You are the
heavenliest thing after prayer. I am

mortal in your arms, mother. I
gather the fire in the bellows of my

heart, I gather salt into the
seagull's beak. I know what I speak

of. I scream in the shadows, a slave
to thirst. I groan in the night, a

master of nothing. O mother where
are my prayers? Where are the places

the river tears flow? Where is your
hand in all of these? As the trees

tremble with rain & the weight of
harvest, let me not be empty into
tomorrow.

image credit: pixabay

Yours always,
Osahon (warpedpoetic)