A Midmorning Prayer

Last night you told me to
walk out on a limb, saw in hand,
and I agreed:
there is too much to forgive,
there is too much to hide.
But underneath (the Spirit is whispering)
are the everlasting arms
are the palms with branches
soft enough to catch
bones brittle that warp like wax:
always sweet breath of morning
easing the cripple to
heel and toe.