May the Breastplate of Patrick protect you,
the milk of Bridget wash you
(and those who drink enjoy her beer)
and Brendan’s dolphins leap
from submerged places
scattering drops of light and liveliness
and towing you to deep harbor
or wild Eucharist on a wide-backed fish.
May you hold tenderly,
cupped in your two hands,
the truth in the legends
of all peoples,
even the legends about yourself.
And for today …
may the blessing you find
be of rising roads and kind winds
rather than the tardiness of devils …
and the blessing you hunt
be a touch of God, not a pot of gold.