and every morning this prayer

pulls up the red-soaked dawn --

Strum your bloody strings

I said, pound the sturdy pulse of my life

~ Excerpt from “As if this were your last,” by Thomas Griffin

And my pulse, was it steady in my ear?

I hear it through all the noise of rooster and songbirds

And did I risk and tell the truth when I wasn’t sure I would?

They listened and were glad. We are not alone.

And did I set the table with treats for the guests?

Balloons and a little bag of surprise.

And did I pray without asking?

To the trees for the fire, for the flare.