On nights when Orion is out and there is nothing between you and me but the telephone wires, on this night, can you hear me?
Can you hear me now that the air is tonic? I put my words on the effervescent stars bubbling up to the rim of the sky unobstructed.
If I am ever to have a prayer that You hear, it must be on a night like this one.
Standing beneath an arid Autumn tree, out of place in Spring, a modest breeze swirls the parched leaves too stubborn to fall and "Shush-shhhhhhhshush" my worrisome prayers.
Rock a bye baby in the tree tops.
A Mother hushing my fears away.
The moon came out to play tonight too. Too close this time and got caught in the dry branches- and something else, tied to a twig, shining in its' light, a crystal bell! Bouncing as the leaves shush.
Out of no obligation, but simply a Father indulging His daughters frivolous plea, the bell tinkles.
Yes, on nights like this You are near.
But it's not that You can't hear me on other nights, it's just that on other nights I'm usually inside, and that is a difficult place to see Orion's belt, and it's not possible for a dried up old tree to "Shush!" you, and it certainly is no place at all for a crystal bell to ring by itself!