Prayers are Echoing

"Prayers are Echoing"

The air hums like the rattle around
high voltage wires. Each cubic inch must be filled with
flights of angels passing through this protected space.

Deliveries and consolations, announcements like
fireweed unmistakably framed.

Lift me from this tiny occupation, my linoleum tile
upon which I dwell. I am not well, though I am
painfully in love with everything You say.

Friends want to heal me, doctors ignore my calls

Sometimes

And prayers are echoing off the angels’ wings
like flowers in a toddler’s grasp.

I know He has answered; I know it though pain
wraps my head and rings it like a tornado siren.

I can live with the pain, but can I perform my obligations,
fulfill my occupation, earn an honest dollar?

I long to step back into the darkness alone,
or at the coast somehow for a week out of every 7 days

And cry myself to sleep, and awake to the ocean breeze,
and cry myself to sleep again before lunch is served.
I cannot think for more than 2 hours at a time,
and do not know if it is a crime to take pay for so
little return; pennies on the dollar, a seedling from
an entire orchard’s produce.

The air is humming, the angels watch and attend,
sent by my Master’s hand. How then, can I complain

At the end of the day when friends want to pray

Away the pain

That remains after they have said “Amen”.