finds the quickest way to touch—has rock
weight to be thrown
again and again
soon he will realize his flesh is god
wispy and tongued
it knows to pull and heave
our prayer comes back quick to burst
like the first frozen layer over a
muddy puddle—broken
by a clumsy boy—
her long, faultless arm
grips the yes of my body
I often think about that night (ceaseless)
blown wild through
the gray tongue of winter