praying in the field

image credit IG @fiveforkfarms

Somewhere between July and now I went into the field,

It was a full one, harvest days were plenty, but I forgot by flower shears

I always seem to forget them,

and when I have them,

I forget the basket,

and then when I have the basket, 

I can never hold them both

and all this is metaphor

dear friend,

but would you know?

So without shears and a basket,

I've simply been praying in this field,

or was that laying?

horizontal and ostensibly taken over by trauma of past

and others.

well

I am awakening,

and perhaps it was prayer the whole time.

I never am quite sure,

but Au Revoir Simone

is jamming to that old popular tune,

and a candle is glimmering 

scents of cardamom and vetiver

and nobody ever knows what vetiver is 

anyways.

Someday between this type and the next

I am growing.

I may not be that heirloom dahlia,

I'm more textured, oh wait, that's like really textured.

Maybe i'm just a believer 

maybe it's just praying over and over and over with eyes shut and hands swaying

and body wrestling with the ground since the bed is too soft and it likes dirt in all crevices.

well

This might just be the pick-me up, pray to the heavens and I would suggest start

laughing

and 

keep

it flowing

Sometimes it all seems so easy

and the rest of the time,

horizontal

and 

plated,

we can just pretend 

we are laying on a bed full of colorful chrysanthemums 

and

maybe it wouldn't be a lie.

but I wonder,

"what steps can we take, 

to keep ourselves awake?

so easy to fall asleep,

so easy to be weak!"