If you can remember the prayer
I’ll listen for your praise
refill your fire-felled forests
flourish your scorched fields
if it isn’t too late for faith to work
to wash my face in blue gold
draped in lapis lazuli my silver hair
still trails from my fastened chariot
four white clouds are empty overhead
maybe your wisdom was wrong
when you erased my elegy
the dark grey of rain
the hard sting of sleet
on unexpectant skin
on the earth as she cooled off
to replenish me once more.