Prayer.

   Four hundred miles from me,
   she has busied herself with
   obligations through the day,

   and now she sits on the porch
   surrounded by hardwoods and
   watches the last birds feed

   as shadows conjure the night.
   Beneath the surface of her memory,
   she hides her family's heartbreaks,

   which she can't fix, except to
   enshrine them as her own.
   Soon she will lock the darkness out

   and light our room to read.
   Let music charm, let no storm come.
   Let the wind be calm or sift

   like safety through her room.
   Invite the cat to fall asleep
   in her lap.