The wind; a passing gale sweeps
The desert is filled, too many
Origin, a return to birth.
A sword of blazing fire, winged
Where are you Eden?
I look and look,
the desert is filled with voices too many,
which is mine or do i have any?
The sun no weeps, I sing.
Myself, I find, thick of leaves
I carry, it sings no longer green.
Winged fire sword ablaze,
use I, leaves dry. Outstretched,
brown, my arms, fail to sky
afire. Feet my burns, I no walk longer.
Stiff, I root my tree to flower.
Fragrant white flowers, settle.
Pray I to you, of hope I joy.
Bring life to water, Frame of sky
Bring, Abba, Father.
– Sukoshiyama, Prayer poem
February 1, 2011