Pilp-Plopping
Do two prayers
make a third?
Do I say it anyways
in seclusion
as directed
by You
when I've written
a third
on my heart?
Or, in praying
both, together,
do I twist-tie
and suffocate
each breath
rising out
for liberty
into the cold
that crystallizes
all fluid?
To find warmth -
to be warm
in the cold
rather than
to be too warm -
and finding no
cool.
I can dig
capillary action
and rising up
when gravity
is absent;
flight is a bitter
bird that grounds
itself in embarrassment
when it misses its prey
(after-thinker)
celestial mechanics,
a phrase daVinci
would've delighted in.
I mean,
I want to auto center
the subject of me
in prayer
but my car also
needs a miracle.
I take a train
and pray when
we stop for smokes
and chew,
praying for the engine
and the engineer,
for God's own
plip-plopping
of rain breaking
through the cabin
to dowse me, Lord,
make me a flippy-floppy
fish-man, swimming
away to you
leaving rail
and road
and following
the currents
beneath the ice.
Copyright 2025 by Gary Dale Burns