Morning, Early Spring

This is the hardest time for the soul.
The soul wants prayer and slow air
moving through the body. And it's easy
to pray on this porch, but all you speak to
is the body. You say praises for the lips;
the "p" is a kiss to yourself. If your hands
are held together, you've pressed your own
fingers into each other and felt
the knuckles in the nest of your thin
finger bones. You've held out your arms
to the sun, to the wind, and felt the fine
hairs move both ways in this weather.
Meanwhile the soul waits for the cold night.