Morning Call

I’m choosing sunrise
and I’m already worrying
for his mother
as he stands there
normal as a morning bird
in his indifferent pink sky.
I watch him
as if he was real
(as if I am real)
holding still
between the equal pull
of God and gravity.
They say those angels
never did dance
on the head of a pin.
But he has not climbed.
He has alighted
in this holy place
(all places are sacred
to some)
and is absorbed
in sending
and receiving
his prayer.