Pieces

So many pieces floating in my life right now, little sticks adrift in a stream. I strain to see a pattern, watch and wait to discover which ones will land upon the shore... a sort of flotsam that finds itself connected by fallen reeds, dead leaves, string from old cloth, but, still, connected. I want to know which ones will float away, forgotten, dash against rocks, splinter, split.

I strain to see.

And my mind reaches for a "borrowed prayer."

Give us.

Give us this day.

This day.

Let me be content to watch the pieces floating, twirling in eddies, bobbing. Let me not strain to see. Just let this be upon my tongue...

Give us.

Give us this day.

This day.