This morning I cleaned up the cards that we left out on the couch
After you routed me in Go Fish and I yelled “ouch” in mock pain as you collected the last three sets, prolonging your reign as champion

This has become my morning liturgy
Of praise, reminding me of all good things, as the sun comes up, 
You pull me away from tea, to say
Our Father, 
Our Mother,
Four kings,
Four queens
And this is a good order for starting things

Prayer changes with the seasons and this time is fleeting like a little fox
(Just yesterday you told me you’d like to walk to school alone, and so it goes)
But I am praying now this Psalm of you, in the only moment I can hold, like any—the one just here and now
Beholding you, and how
Full of miracle you are
You of the little hands and face and the laugh of grace
Whenever you steal my final ace

Oh thank God, the Faithful, for thumbs to hold these cards 
And to lose to you, as you learn how smart you are
And thank God the warm sun cutting through the dusty miracles of morning
Of which I am one

And above all, you, my dear
A doxology of promise
A prayer inviting me to remember that love is always loss, the pain of hope and longing and that we only choose between griefs:
Of regret and sacrifice 
And that only one, in the end, is loss

I will count that cost

As sets of aces fall, and jacks and eights
At this gate of you,
Through which God’s face shines, each new day
Letting bright, good mercies through

For more poetry, click here.