all at once,
I get down on my knees.
I could be half way through an unrelated thought,
perhaps wondering why I run out of spoons
so quickly, or
remembering the forest at the farm,
when I drop, and
raise my hands to clasp in front,
then pray that none of this is meaningless,
that I am not ignored,
as my torment suggests.
If this recent slurry of
challenge, and suffering,
planting so much knowing, so much
wisdom for harvest,
then I am in.