Prayer for my Husband the Day After his Father Breaks a Hip

My dear, you need rest.

Long afternoons of sunshine that melt 

quietly into nights softened by moonlight.

My dear, you need nourishment.

Bowls full of steaming stew, platters of olives, 

cheese, maybe radishes and sweet figs.

My dear, you need silence.

Respite from the clatter of machinery, 

the drone of drills, the bang of falling coal.

My dear, you need water.

Sluicing through the black dust that coats your hair, 

clings to your fingertips like ink clings to mine.

My dear, you need comfort.

Soft bed and warm blankets, the dependable relief of a cup of tea,  

the gyroscope of normalcy in a tilting world.

My dear, you need beauty—sunrise soaring as 

quietly as the owl from the eaves, 

gliding on instinct and trust.

My dear, you need love;

Steadfast and sublime, holding you aloft in soft breezes

that burnish your halo to gold.