Do not eat from October’s black hand, O my situation.
Are you still. Listen. Innocence: a seam to be stitched or split with a throw of omens. I lay me down, my soul to keep. I have sown my amen in the earth.
Sometimes, I live in the open. My heartbeat a lamb, my heartbeat I am bleeding from the mouth a heartbroken rain. The thin inches time will give me winter as I stand and watch. The small in me has anthems made of time’s mouth made of thousands of beads.
I will read my more childish self to sleep. She will use locusts only for as long as they robe the fields with the feeding they were meant for. She will nest where bats nest, set curtains to burning, place a marker beside my name so that I might return.
Her heart, made of shale, lies in the mouth of a pious man. Its verses are stalls that keep the wind ceaseless. Its lamps cry light in the shape of young lovers as they two-step through the four rooms of God.
A Flinch of Song (Tupelo, 2009)