Waking for its own sake
as dawn insists
its way to the ridge
above my home, I
will arthritic bones
from bed.

Groping through
a chest of clothes,
I find the skin of grays,
dress myself in prayers,
worship all day
without saying a word.

Days drift as I rise this
way, two years since my
job was taken away.
Like meditation maybe,
I pray alphabets in my head,
weavingways of leaving my past…

to forgive.