Para Ti

It rained last night,

a gentle thrumming on the metal roof

of the surf hostel where I am staying

in the room with an orange door 

and orange sheets. 

The beach this morning smells sweet 

in a new way

and I am mesmerized by the waves,

the in-out breath of the ocean.

Loud, colorful birds squawk from the tops of palms

and the feel of wet sand underfoot

is a tiny reminder of infinite worlds.

Why does prayer always seem to go so much further when offered to the sea? 

Carried on the backs of black spots  on the horizon,

whales or dolphins,

rolled into the tiny shells of sand dwelling mollusks,

offering translucent, alien arms to the tides. 

I move in my body, 

asana and breath

and then in the heart,

giving thanks. 

You are there, and the little one growing inside you,

surrounded by the family of those I love. 

I offer softly spoken words 

to the far reaching expanse, gradient shades of blue

as far as I can see,

until the water meets the sky and

the clouds pile

over and over each other 

for miles up 

and miles out:

May they be full of

health and safety,

joy and ease.