Pages

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Prayer

A chilly January night.
Fingering a wooden rosary,
I sit on the third-floor balcony
In a darkness here and there
Dotted and streaked with light.
I'm dressed in winter pajamas.
No one save Heaven can see me
As I look up at the Hunter's belt,
Down at asphalt and grass.
The light traffic of Route 60
Hums within sight and hearing
Just past the hundred-yard path
In front of my apartment building.

It's thirty, thirty-five degrees.
I wrap this cold around me
And my sluggish senses waken.
I drink darkness like water
And listen for whispers of mercy
In the endless star-sparked sky.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Without You

Without you, life's a hole without a sock, A fruitless rind, some coffee-grounds (no brew): Sarcastic stars can only jeer and mock. ...