Tools of Prayer

I am deep water.
You are the fire that warms bones.

I am infinity.
You have questions
about the sturdiness of each wall
that surrounds us.

In the night I awake
to the hum of your absent body
and the smell of lavender.

In the painting
tattooed on your skin
dragons wrap themselves with snakes,
spider webs are covered
by the sound of the Buddha
laughing
and I have traced your name
a thousand times,
letter for letter,
on my plain paleness,
understanding the caution
of forever.

One of us is a stone
rolled smooth by the ocean.
The other is the taste of smoke
exhaled and disappearing
after loving.

One of us is a sip of cool wine.
The other the hand placed flat
on the surface of the kitchen table,
convinced of the smooth comfort
of wood.

In the revolving door
of this incarnation,
memory does not serve me
with abundant kharma,
but leaves me guessing.
Thus, my troubled intuition,
my endless kindness for others
and for blue eggs
dropped from the nest.

Have mercy
and explain yourself
and the temperature of the air
that hovers like a ruby-throated warrior
in my dreams.

Amuse me
with the light of candles
in the private room
of anywhere
so that I might burn
with the shame
that has taught me
to fly.

I am the woman
crossing the path
known only to animals;
the soul companion
you forgot you had.

I am the beads in the palm
of your hand as your pray
for enlightenment
and the pull of peace.