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
that I clear it of stones
like your clearing
the rice paddy field
of stones. See—
and the grain of rice