Sometimes I talk to God with my eyes
open as I drive between obligations.
It seems like he ought to listen more
intently when my palms press together
and I fold on top of my feet, but there are
days when I have appointments.
I blow these interim prayers out
my cracked window and roll it
back up to keep the rain out.
Paul said to pray without ceasing.
Does a second glance at a crow count?
Do aches of gratitude suffice?
I do pray for real most mornings.
Last night I told my son I love him for the
umpteenth time and he looked up at me
and said through an embarrassed smile: