Prayer





This is the six o'clock cry that draws the sun from its bed:





Apollo, I have a fierce desire to be intimidated. This is because a brilliant mind is refreshing-----more so than the water from the highest mountain, the deepest porcelain well.


I would gladly spend my life at their feet, listening to their mutterings, coaxing the visions from their sleep. I would split figs in half, fill the crevices with wine and gold, offer them on a bed of white fern. I would sew silk pouches to separate their shadows.


Flood this land with light and dispell our pain. 
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