The mists rose from patches of pines
like prayer incense rising, disappearing
as words thinned and the burden
of the prayers dissolved until there
was only the scent of pine and the air
was cleared for response. It took all
day for the answers to appear. Hours
of driving in the congestion of speed
and slow downs, of cars and trucks
and semis feet from front and back
bumpers and then that thinned some
two hours from home as I drove west
into the grandeur of the sunset –
mauve clouds with gray underlings,
pink patches mixed with wisps
of white, the sun slipping behind
the clouds in that evening glow of gold
and felt the answers to the unspeakable
morning prayers and knew I’d soon be home.
-Byron Hoot
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