Why don’t you
“come into the room,”
feel for the vertebrae
in my spine and
count them,
one by one,
if you will.
Like rosary beads,
let them slip
through your fingers
and as you do,
notice how soft the light
comes in at the window
and fills the room
with the faint smell
of lavender oil,
as though it blows
from where it came
across the fields,
applied at the center,
of the forehead,
on the soles of the feet,
and when you run out
and there are
no more beads,
I’ll tell you what I pray for.

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