Four Prayers with the Lion's Paw

I stretch my arms to my Beloved
as a child barefoot in the snow,
and beg to be swung into the air.
He
honeymoon-holds me,
swinging me, singing me into
Delight.

You light my eyes, Beloved,
with the butter-yellow breath
of Easter
and I hope you crack me open
like a painted Easter egg,
spilling gold
on starving land.

Beloved,
You make me like a hefty stone
loged into a riverbed,
wailing silently
in anguish
as the slow persistent tugging
of your love erodes me
grain by grain,
washing me
at last into the sea.

You are holding up a mirror, God,
and showing me two "me"s I might yet be.
I should ask you for the courage
to choose the one who dances to the sun,
release the one who's dragging all the shackles.
But really, God, what I want
is to slap the mirror from your hands
and go running over the jagged broken pieces into your arms.