for my love

words fail me, my sunshine,
and a very indian embarassment hisses,
but anonymity braces me;
so may poetry gird my prayers.

as you walk, expectant,
into the heart of darkness, and the heart of a continent-
holding your hand out to the birthing,
teaching them to kick-ass, and wield pins at close quarters,
this prayer goes out into the ether-
may there be a mobile phone mast in your village,
a fan in your room,
no bugs in your bed,
warm water in the bath
and good company to be had.
have fun, wine at will, and dream of me;
please take care of yourself,
may the force be with you,
and bring you safely back to me.