Keep a prayer for peace
in your nightstand
addressed to the Universe.
Open it when the death toll
reaches a number higher
than you can imagine
in jelly beans.
Drive to the outskirts of town,
turn left at the motel where
you would never spend the night–
the one seeded with shower
curtain mold, fiber sheets, cable tv.
Roll down your window,
feel the nuzzle of desert air
soften your collarbones.
Look closely for a field of sunflowers
and release your well worded plea.
A ripple, maybe, in the cosmos.
Drive home believing
an African woman
was spared rape,
her children untied from a tree.
The man on the ledge stepped
back, returned home to kiss his wife.
A V.P. requested a moment
of silence in the middle of a meeting
so that an entire office
could connect to their breath.
If you believe this is possible,
Spend the next ten seconds
in the white space of your own prayer.