open doors

look, i don't believe in god

so please don't pray for me.

though it makes you feel better
i would rather a cluster

of dandelions just past their

yellow, to wisp my counter top

and in their vase, 

illuminate the wishes i can make.

look, not god,

but the earth and weeds give me faith,  and 

sitting with the autumn leaves falling on

my chest, my heart.  i believe in the

rabid foxes in my back yard, and that

people will love me

like a boa constrictor loves a bunny.

don't pray for me.  just bring me bouquets
of empty spiderwebs and stalks of wild
and unwanted, fistfulls of skeletons,
fistfulls of lived, and
walk with me
through the door half closed,
into the universe.