Early morning, stack of books before me and journal at my side—should words and inspiration show—mind refused settle.
Nothing focused. Nothing fixed, held in draw of my attention, and so I prayed.
Lights off, candle lit, morning still in darkness, from beginning Cross through bead by bead—I prayed.
What were my intentions? For what did I pray? I reflected in questions before each decade. Finding answers, I prayed in their devotion.
Since, the sun is up. Day’s awake. The stack of books remain, and my focus still falters; restless as it sometimes is.
Still, in prayer, I focused for a time and poured of soul into something.