â€śWhen you pray, go into your room,â€ť He said, so each green dawn as spring light stirs, I sit, womb-snug, in my small room, hushed high above unfurling leaves, with Luke whoâ€™s all of five days new, but solid as a loaf of bread, and, oh, such wisdom; petal-soft, in and out, I hear his breath. Receive. Release. Thatâ€™s all there is. Just this. Quiet. Nothing more.