Anxiety lies like a knot,
a clot,
stopping the flow
and twisting,
blocking
all in its path.
Sleep is distant
as images come unbidden
and lists form
and then get stuck.
Stuck like beads on a necklace
with knots keeping them in place,
preventing them from
sliding smoothly
to and fro,
ebb and flow.
What will it take
to slip the knot
unblock the clot
to let the stream
rush once more
over the pebble dam,
laughing and gurgling,
splashing and foaming,
free to go where it will?
What will it take
to find that clear pool of grace?
The clock chimes
and I’m minded
that it is time to pray.