The Sycamore’s Prayers

The Sycamore’s Prayers
Blind Man at the Gate

The enormous sycamore is older than internal combustion
Quieter too
I call it my sycamore tree
Which is funny
Because it more rightly calls me its human being

I’ve seen it get sick and I’ve seen it get well
It’s a tough old tree
Once in an ice storm it impaled the ground with a spear
Zeus couldn’t have done it better
It’s not a tree to be trifled with

It watched Missouri hunt deer
Before there were houses here
Now it watches me
Read and write books
(The Missouri were more interesting)

For two decades it’s stood guard
While I thought and thought and thought
And found a better way to think about God
And the tree thinks
I’m not as daft as when we first met

We hung a porch swing from its mightiest bough
(Sycamore doesn’t mind)
It’s my favorite place to pray
I think my prayers helped heal it once
And the sycamore’s prayers have healed me

More than once