To whom do I pray?
I pray to my mother,
who prayed to her mother,
who prayed to her mother,
who watched her mother
above the fire.
Who watched her mother
perish in a river,
who watched her mother
walk away frozen in despair,
and a hundred thousand prayers
go by.
A hundred-hundred thousand words,
petroglyphs,
moaning songs,
and dear children of life
who pray in the dead of night,
across their fires,
in the terror of a lonely sleep.
Interrupted on a place
nowhere to be found,
in a universe too huge
to bear on small shoulders,
child of dust and dream.