The Relief

on panic and prayer

The Relief 

After a week 
spent beneath 
swells of 
panic, 
I give 
my mind 
permission 
to lapse
into lilacs.
June wind
unfurling 
the scent—
every sense 
caught up 
in a rush of 
memory 
straining 
to align with 
present time
as I sit 
on a bench 
by a small 
grotto where
Our Lady gazes.
Her lids open 
and close
as shadows 
wave across 
her face. 
And memory 
stops
squirming.
To be seen
and to see 
through 
her sight 
that sees 
the one
who sees all 
all at once. 
The relief:
to be unbound 
by words, 
weightless 
in prayer,
the heart
broken open,
if only
for the length 
of a breath.