A Prayer Facing East
to a daughter, not of blood
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