prayer to the dawn

Good morning to you fog on the lake.

You make a beautiful scene on this chilled and wet morning.

Not a drift of a breeze to speak of and only a blanket of grey overhead with no slit for the sun.

I do love a morning like this, especially in the mythopoetic.

I can only see the shoreline across the lake as an obscured smudge, thanks to your thickness.

I’m reminded that this is the last day of my life. My last day to walk this earth before the night takes me.

What then should be my question?

…

Please, teach me my true name.

And may that name be too big for me.

May it feel impossible for me to live up to.

May it require that I need help.

May it require that I give more than I can imagine- for it cannot be kept for myself.

May it be a promise it will kill me to break.