PRAYER

For the love of Norway. For the love of my white hair in the photographs I take of myself. For the love of asking myself, ‘what's up?’ And in that love, for the love of the most intimate distance that a photograph creates. For the love of posing that a mirror asks me not. For the love of my own theater. And in that love, for the love of capturing my deepest desire. For the love of my fear whose force I awesomize. For the love of the Druid’s prayer, and in that prayer for the love of the White Witch. For the love of the reason that I have not, to hate. Because I love. And in that love of love, for the love of the sober task of walking the path. And in that walk, for the love of sensing another’s soul. And in that soul, for the love of finding myself. For the love of devotion, and in that devotion for the love of the longest infinity that does not end. For the love of numbers, and in those numbers, for the love of words that seal. And in that seal, for the love of magic. For the love of the dreadful spell that binds. And in that bind, for the love of afterlife where black is black and white is white. For the love of saying, ‘I’m here now.’ And in that love, for the love of what IS.