Winter 2013 • Vol. XXXV No. 1 Poetry |

Prayer

for JP An acorn unfurls a tail, tucked under its argyle cap, and goes after something smaller than itself to stow. Everything wild to own. Lord, please: full pocket me. I want good greed, a new breed of wing. I heard of a man who affixes whiskers to maple seeds, furring them with tiny cattail collars. Winter-coating the woods. If, Lord, you were to return, could you be more thorn? On a stem usually neutral—a single spire steepling from its side. Forests face inward. When I pass through, the path retracts behind me, my shadow tender underfoot. Path thatarrows as if toward an altar, but ends instead in a clearing: floral, whirring, fastened invisibly together.

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for JP An acorn unfurls a tail, tucked under its argyle cap, and goes after something smaller than itself to stow. Everything wild to own. Lord, please: full pocket me. […]

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