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My turtle friend says, Don't ever pray for specific outcomes.
		When the skiff's mast nearly topples under flames,
Don't pray for rain, only for the strength to give it up . . . give it up.

Once captain of a big brass boat, I washed ashore on a big bad rock
		and heard, When we ask for things, we lead ourselves astray.
My turtle friend says, Don't ever pray for specific outcomes.

Clung to bottle, snuff, pearls . . . and any siren if I found one
		that clutched back as hard as I should've fought away.
Don't pray for love, it only comes when you give it up, when you give it up. 

The serenity to accept thirst . . . 
	The strength to look from the sea's cruelties 
		to your own . . . 
			The wisdom to pray
				so you can swallow drowning as it comes . . . 
					And never for an outcome.

When you steered the boat, look where you've gone: toward sharks 
		and krakens, away from loved ones waiting at the bay 
for your return; all for rusting treasure—you just couldn't give it up.

But if this skiff can ramp over every wave, withstand each typhoon, and dodge
		each dark mouth, will I be forgiven? Or will I be cast away?
My turtle friend says, Don't ever pray for specific outcomes.
	For fate . . . To inner god, for inner calm . . . As for the rest, give it up.
		Give it up . . .

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The original publication at Wild Roof Journal.
You should follow me on IG: @JavierWantsCandy.