A Prayer Facing East

to a daughter, not of blood

Photo by Fritz Bielmeier on Unsplash

I hope my prayers wing their way
through your town as they ascend,
and that perhaps you feel them brush
against your cheek as phantom wings;
or as a warming of your heart —
a respite through a tiresome day.

Moya doroha donechka, you
know you are loved from far away;
we’re not bound by blood, we two,
but of a substance deeper still.
We are kindred you and I —
a gift transcending space and time.

Across the dark, chaotic sea
I place a hand upon your head,
recite the blessing over you —
that God will watch and keep you safe.

© Darryl Willis 2019