BOOK OF HOURS/ 5:00a.m.
“Hope is the thing with feathers that
perches in the Soul—and sings the tunes
without the words—and never stops at all.”
I am lying here…I fit so comfortably in your
curl…I know some things are changing and dramatically.
Your light fading, yet a light not so distant is filling the
sky. I spread my wings splashing into the black ocean
that has held us in these hours. Like a coin tossed in
the air, heads win now, tails win, too. I reflect back,
but the tail, yes, the tail that is you, curls around
bringing me face to face…clock ticking, my pupils
restricting. I rub my eyes…the stars present, yet
soften…this hour like a caterpillar breaking from its
cocoon and a metamorphosis ensues. Born again, a set of
wings. Have I been crawling all these hours, well,
these few hours, so vast, that I did not see how you wove
around me allowing me, too, to be born again? I ask
again, who am I, and who are you in this hour? Will you tell me
some-thing in what ‘becomes’ in a ‘blink’ of an eye?
Oh, endearing presence, I love how you are there in
between the ‘blink.’ There is no-thing separating
the hours. Though the image created new, you are in
all inviting me to see, who I, too, am in all.
How can I keep from singing!
Pray with me in this hour.
6:00 a.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No worry if you pass! I hold you in all the hours remaining.