Your Will

Pink for blue and cans for boxes, funeraled biers and death night watches. There are times when one can't sleep, times to remember and weep when thoughts abandon and words fall and falter. But you lean inside the breath of God as you pass the bonehand potter, waiting instead for the rush that comes --of exhaled Word, of healing water; co-mingling with your heart's counterpoint beat, you bend and say "Your will not mine be done."