A Prayerbook

Listen for the divided word

in the city where

the policeman said

it was his gun against

the thunder, and two

guns against the storm.

An article of faith:

all who build

cities would build

Jerusalem.

            When you sing, you

            sing the summer,

            and you are always

            singing—

                             as for me,

            ursus rusticanus, I

            have December in

            my teeth,

            will show you why

            I stare this way,

            why the thick-tongued

            mutters, why—

All my bones repent,

and the Kyrie of

all my bones goes

reeling on the wind

When we breathe, we breathe confession.

I recall reading somewhere that

breath is a slow fire

in the body, much like

the name of God.

There is a fine epitaph,

and fine enough for me.