Your eyes, over breakfast, are where I find
my morning prayer to an unknown God. Thanking,
loving, and worshiping the divinity
reigning down on my head as small toes
wriggle  within my body.

My mind is overwhelmed with wound up
time, ticking, endlessly without ceasing
into the prism of your soft, searching soul.
Hands inside, hand outside — we find our solace
in you. A creator of the created, still both in womb.

Stopping time is your specialty
over breakfast, I see you — seeing me.
answering my prayer.