In a swirling watercolor a face,
barely there, emerging as a hint.
Maybe like the images of Jesus
seen in toast or pieces of cloth.

Serene, head covered, eyes cast
downward like an Orthodox icon
without a gilded gold FRAME.
A SAINT of simplicity.

I whisper ALOUD a prayer.
“In the expanse, I am cradled.
Solitude is my adventure.
Let me become a LOCAL here.”

Heather