Finger Rays

Your fingers fan out from your palms like rays
fan from the sun and make you feel they are
something like the sun that makes our days,
and though a hand is a small, it’s like a star.
Yet what can fingers do that’s like the sun,
though they are smaller than it is by far –
the sun that lights the world for everyone
and warms it too wherever they now are?
As solar rays deliver warmth and light,
so too can fingers be a source of those,
and they can even end a soul’s dark night
as when night ends because the sun arose.
Your fingers, when they hold or they caress,
bring warmth and light like solar rays that bless.

Finger Rays

Mario A. Pita

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Abuelo

Abuelo, I remember you as waiting
at terminals of bus or plane for me,
not like an archived picture that’s been fading
but one ingrained within my memory.
You struck me as eptiome of peace,
and – fittingly – your name meant one who’s just.
Though years ago your life appeared to cease,
I picture you at where I had been bussed,
awaiting with tranquility. Your essence,
I feel, has reached to me through time and space,
so, decades later, I still feel your presence,
serenity and love within your face.
Like you for me, I pray God waited for you,
and – in eternity – He will restore you.

Untitled

Mario A. Pita

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Cousins

While afternoon sunlight bathes my face,
my dog completely licks my open hand,
and then the room feels like a sacred space
in a moment which I hadn’t planned
in which the sunshine and his licking tongue
appear to be related as if they
were cousins soothing me of woes that stung,
each in their inimitable way.
I’m grateful for such moments when I feel
relationships where it seemed there were none
as in the special kinship that is real
between my dog’s tongue licking and the sun.
I’m thankful though by sorrows I’ve been kicked,
for sunshine bathed my face while my dog licked.

Canine Chiaroscuro

Mario A. Pita

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Solar Orison

You cupped the late day sun between your palms
and squeezed it lightly so its rays streamed through
like liquid gold for someone who sought alms,
a treasure poured that afternoon for you.
The rays were slender filaments, like lashes,
between your fingers, interrupting them,
so each ray broke to several golden dashes,
emitted from a central, brilliant gem.
Before you pressed together palms to pray,
you let the sunlight in between them splash,
delighting in the streaming of each ray
that you held briefly like a riches’ stash.
You hoped that as you prayed your private psalms,
God would be there like sun between your palms.

Solar Orison

Mario A. Pita
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Planetary Lullaby

You used to think that you should be a star,
constantly emitting warmth and light,
and often loathed yourself for being far
from reaching that ideal, celestial height.
But you have come to see you are a world
of forests, deserts, mountains, oceans, plains,
where multitudes of blossoms have unfurled,
with countless lifeforms and diverse terrains.
Some parts of you are frigid, others torrid,
and many varied climates in between.
In you there is the beautiful and horrid,
the surface visible and depths unseen.
You used to think that you should be a star,
but you are a world, superb the way you are.

Planetary Lullaby

Mario A. Pita

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Manna

A snowflake that the wind blew in my mouth
looked like a holy wafer – heaven bread–
that I could not have tasted further south
where warm and liquid droplets fall instead.
The snowflake bread that fell as if from heaven
took in the atmosphere some time to bake
before it turned to bread a breeze had given,
the winter manna of a small snowflake.
The snowflake didn’t choose this day to fall
nor did I choose to accidentally eat,
but I am thankful to the Lord of all
for this reminder in a wind blown treat:
although not falling looks to us as safer,
Love chose to fall and give Himself as wafer.

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Mario A. Pita

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Growth Orison

To love as I have never loved before
is what I pray, so that my love will be
growing, forest-like, forevermore,
branching slowly toward infinity.
While loving of the present or the past
has seemed to be at times a tree full grown,
even if its growth was far from fast,
I hope it’s dwarfed by love as yet unknown.
But sometimes love has ceased its growth, and I
have been like trees in winter that are bare
and can’t stretch any further to the sky,
as I can’t reach to greater love and care.
Their growth resumes. May mine do so as well
so love won’t shrivel but will always swell.

Willow Muscle

Mario A. Pita

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