Summer Hands

We sprinkle summer dust in our palms
then sleep in its reveries of enchantment
waking to the blessings of a pristine adventure
that eagerly awaits the touch of our talents
but often—morning lights fade into our phone
where another long slog of doom scrolling
diverts our precious inspirations of a new day
into its slops of news cycles and social media
drunken in its darkness, division, and dread
exasperated—we fall into voids of despair
retreating—we lose another day’s divine hope

In place of such habitual dismay and curse—
let’s wake to some good—meditating in nature
inhaling all her perfumes of a verdant creation
forgiving ourselves while erasing our yesterdays
exploring paths of writing, drawing, or music
serving others within our arts of healing colors
spreading our hands into the hearts of humanity
painting God’s image upon our sunlit glows
while saving the spells of muddled information
for after our consecrations have frayed us down
rejoicing—we sprinkle holy sacred dusts of light
in our palms of another endless summer’s night