This morning, I fed the cat,
bagged the trash, wiped the kitchen
counter of crumbs, relics really;
raked the leaves, mowed the grass.
A rabbit, startled by the
gas-powered scythe scuttered,
white tail exposed,
exiting garden right.
I lit a fire. It smouldered
only, breathing smoke,
heaving ashes into air,
unspeakable particles of prayer.