Night Prayers

Drifting into sleep’s  oblivion  

my final conscious thoughts  

are my promised prayers

lifting, lifting

in scudding clouds of supplication

like homing multitudes of birds

bent on heaven.

I imagine their bird-bright colors—

red for the cancers, newly-diagnosed,

brown for earthquake victims,

blue for the addicted…

yellow for the non-specific requests,

(keep them in your prayers)

and for those facing hopeless causes, 

a thing with (green) feathers;

flashes of orange for the random thank-yous,

purple wings for the hopes and fears

bedeviling us all, 

and the black requiems

for train wrecks and shootings and accidents,

for murders, and wars, and riots, and suicides.

This is my flight of prayers

that joins with all those lifting

from the throats of God’s people on earth—

or maybe the universe--

a rainbow of prayers rising each evening

as reminder of Your promise not to destroy the world--

at least, by water.