Once I prayed for snow on the mountains, 
blossoms on the branch, 
and fruit ripening in the sun. 
Now I pray for my four-chambered heart, 
pocked, bruised, beaten, broken open, like a fruit…

Oh, let it rise again after the frost 
like the blood red Mexican hats dotting the open spaces.

Once I prayed for peace in the world. 
Once I prayed for the valleys to fill with flowers,
for the rains to wash the mountains and fill the brooks.

Now I pray for the landscape of my heart,
that mercy and love and forgiveness 
will wash over it all, that the well-worn ruts 
will heal,
that I clear it of stones
like your clearing
the rice paddy field
of stones. See—
you stooped
and planted
and the grain of rice
multiplied.