The solace of lines on my palm

 

Lines on my palm
they whisper
this night will be over,
the storm will pass,
and not too distant in future
it will be days
with blue skies

once again.

Wishful thinking?

Positive affirmations?

Or getting initiated

into a new religion
of jagged lines? 

Maybe.

If I can curl up

be in my mother’s womb, 
have a Mona Lisa smile,
do I care
what religion it is?