A mid-March Prayer

It's 5 am & mud-puddles pockmark my path.
I walk
to work & ignore the squelch.
Time makes sunwarmed grass green and all glistens as I amble into class,
my mind chained
to the lonely crocuses outside.

Midterm madness, he borrows my pencil
while I stare at the ceiling, deafened by the spring music suppressed within, and
annoyed by the insistent rows of interoggatives.

Solomon dreamed and asked for wisdom - he petitioned with the
Phoenician word (the Phoenicians: a sea-faring people who sailed boldly with tarry hands)
and recieved the right kind, immediate--the king's cup was emptied of mere knowledge
and instead outflowed rich, directional, To-steer-a-boat wisdom.

That's all I ask for too,
no arrogant desire for glory or ease--i ask no more than a God's gifting.
(i catch an inward glimpse the lilies of the field; my shout disrupts the class)

Perhaps I seek more than ship-handling flair;
I sue for the splendor of spring days
and wet skies and
uncaged joy. I entreat you, O Lord,
for year-old calf joy;
let me kick and cavort on one of your thousand hills!