~we are of similar fingers



a letter to god-

darkening clouds press against an unholy blue

and a gospel of crows from the cornfield

sing their daily devotion in d minor

there is pressure in my lungs, father

for I have sinned

a thinness of air, shallow with grief

and I’m emptied of belief that there lies

any beauty in a woman who wears

two faces

and if I am, perhaps, a shadow, a ghost

a previous apparition or a future prediction

a grey blemish on an ultrasound

wishing to be born again

will you fill the absence in my arteries

with an aperture of threnody

and two thirds red ink

so I can bleed verse

on the pages of my skin

rebirth me a poet, father

turn my eyes east past spent bone

and collective sighs

that I might write the measurement

of trust found in wind

and stand beside me, us two, barefoot

among wilted petals

so I can touch the laboring ground

the crab apple rooted for fruit

and miles draped in lavender

father, cup hands to my ears

that I might hear the flutesongs echo

in distant valleys of valediction

the cracking sounds of a doe and fawn

sojourning in summer’s forest

call of a meadowlark

in fall’s forgiving rustle of leaves

rebirth me a poet, father

and I shall write the meaning of the moon

its pure white soul forever hanging on

©  lori hamilton


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