Paint for me, my love,
the sky a deep sapphire blue
smudge the blackest blue about the rounded horizon.
Be frantic in your work
sing to me at times while praying that the stars shine
upon the patch of open forest,
I sit upon while watching you.
Sing away the fear that night brings to me
remind me that the darkness is sacred even now,
fallen as we are, sing while painting the sky.
I will pull out of my cocoon that I had shaped just for me,
I will spread the heat of my body upon the ground enough for two.
Along the edge of the forest, I will build a hearth of stone.
From deep within me call up a cool, hot-blue fire
my mothers left for me to share with you.
The world is crowded, striving and loveless.
I see the nakedness of the children, the despair of their mothers
do not wonder but grieve at their demand for death.
Won’t you pray for the stars to shine a burning hope within the darkness you paint?
Won’t you sing to me of stories of hope rather than the obvious pain?
Look, I’ve stretched out what is left of me here,
upon this patch of open forest floor know
God sings over my faith.
Bring your talents to me.
Sing and paint.