How much do we respect others for what they're like
For the glimpse in one's eyes when watching
Maybe the only object of his or her interest
For how mysteriously they tangle new thoughts in that very moment
And for how mysteriously they're being tangled by the thoughts at the time,*

For when I see you looking through the streetlamps
It's everything
And if I've ever wanted to become one with infinity,
It's because I know I might meet you there.

Let my prayer be counted as incense before you,
    And the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice.
—Psalm 141


I am prayer,
I am a room without walls,
a Rubix Cube,
the Rubicon.

I am the parting of the
Red Sea,
the brass ring,
the gold at the
end of the rainbow.

I am prayer,
I am mysterious,
the five senses
without sight.

I am a broken relationship
repaired,
loneliness
beyond tears.

I am prayer,
the upper room,
Do this for the
the remembrance
of me.*

I am a child with
Down Syndrome,
I am cared for,
loved, nurtured,
and I can sing.

I am prayer,
the road less traveled,
the road home,
this is the way
the night passes.

My hands are folded,
lifted up and away
there is light,
music, hope
and grace.

I am prayer,
I am a room without walls,
the five senses,
especially touch.

My words are gentle,
I can be whispered
or sung,
or shouted
from the rooftops.


© Lewis Bosworth, 1-2017

THE Weird, unstoppable & unexplored thoughts,
Waggled down the curves of me
With beautiful words of thy,
That guided me,
Without the hands of clock stopping mine,
From feeling what it has to be
Numb yet warm, loved & tuned.
While you triggered the awkward convos we made,
For you, deep here praise remained.
The reel or real interest you showed in me
As we have read in all those tales be,
I've also left a part of myself to thee
When you drown again to the imagination' sea,
If your stick hooks upon the part I've left,
Then shall you see what I left wasn't silly!

There is something awry

I can feel it
as I step into
the thick and tense
stifling and sinister,
suffocating ether.

I have a peripheral sense
of an occluded slumber,
a disturbance.
Begotten by me?
I can only hope not.

Haunted by something unknown,
unseen but not unheard.
A sound, a whisper, a chill
Ghastly squall
The rush suspends my breath,
captivates my thoughts,
hurries my pulse;
throbbing and pounding,
in my dizzy and cluttered head.

The door has closed.

Impulse and instinct
drive my body
but it is dark,
         never-ending,
    surrounding
Me.

Perturbation reaches up
And grips my very being;
strangling my conscious,
operational will.
Numbing all perception short of
foreboding and dread.

My entranced, mortal corpse
stumbling over my own hastened direction
that it already knows.
Scrutinizing and bellowing
an audible, unmistakable
laugh
which freezes me again
with crippling petrification.

There is no escape.

Now face to face
as I turn to confront it,
stare to glare.
Menacing and perilous
it consumes me.
      Devours me.
Immortally imprisoned by
              It.

You called me golden
Like, perhaps, I could be a California river.
But I, with my hooded eyes, never thought
I was soaked in sunlight or shimmering in wealth
Until I found you sifting through me
Marveling at a beauty I cannot see:
Telling how the sun makes me sparkle,
Bragging about the curve of my body through the hills.
The more you boasted, the more came to see
And now I know I am that swollen western stream,
A run of water muddied by your boots,
Scattered with pebbles of treasure
Winding south with the current down to the sea.
I am that western vein because I know
I give more than I take, and I know
I could never stick around for long.
You're like the others
Who held me in a pan and
Walked away with all I could give them.