I will not ask for relief;
only for stamina to make it through the night.
I cannot ask for a convenient belief,
instead an enigmatic mosaic full of darkness and light.
I do not desire magic in a bottle.
but the need to pay attention
to the miracle of butterflies and flight,
and all the life around me that is so often unseen.
I do not desire a throng of friends,
help me to find love in my own skin
so that when we meet,
you will recognize my face.
I will not wish for a cure.
I only need the strength to take that next step
and when I reach the top I will wait for you there.
I will leave behind this little prayer.
I hear cackles from earlier generations
and echoes of past conversations
in the water’s thucks and bubbles.
The voices are wet branches against the sky.
I see images of vaguely familiar faces
and distant places in the foamy water
crashing over rocks and swirling
in the river’s spiral.
I want to wade in the shallow water
and revel in the current’s resistance,
but there is not enough time.
I watch a man toss his rod into brown water.
After three attempts, he catches a small fish.
I try to remember something unseen
and wonder how far the river flows.
I want to stay and play for a while,
but I must go.