The way I heard it, 
she said the rain would slip down, and each blade 
lift beneath the weight of drops in ecstasy.
She said, sleep now, close the folds of your eyes 
and see blankness, those lights that only you can know.
Forget the empty screen, the full book, the broken words.
The largest animals on earth have bones the same as yours, 
and the smallest. The fingers of a bat’s wing, the massive 
heart of a giraffe all connect their instruments to you.
She said this is prayer, if anything is, the simple lift 
and fall of a lung beneath ribs beneath skin and all 
the myriad functions that spawn it. Forget the frogs 
beneath frozen ponds, waiting motionless for winter 
to break. Hear only this breath, its air. Help form 
the clouds with each out-take. Watch each breath 
coast towards other lands and creatures. Let it go.

The Rialto, 2011