Thaddeus Rutkowski

O Serene One, take away my jitters, so that I may nest like a bird on a calm ocean,
like that mythical bird, the one transformed by another god, a god different from Yourself,
the bird that was transformed from a grieving widow named Halcyon, metamorphosed to
perch on a circle of sticks on calm waters so she could be near her drowned husband,
to perch there and lay her eggs, incubate them and help with the hatching of the chicks,
all without leaving the surface of the sea, without being blown away by wind or rain, this
condition is I all I ask, O Calm One, because I think that a storm is coming, and that I will be
swept away, as if by a very large broom, and I don't want that to happen, no, all I want is
cool running, just for a while, until I have reached the zen zone, and after a few minutes
there, I'll leave my nest on the waters, maybe even return home, as if transformed again—
a very rare occurrence, I know—this time from bird to human, and do human things,
like weaving tapestries and such, and sleep with dreams that are not nightmares
about shipwrecks.