Prayer for My Father as a Child - by
In the house where he sleeps
let my ears
be the leaves at the window.
In the house where he sleeps
let my ears
be the leaves at the window.
Out of the mist of yearnings, prides, and shames
We raise our cairn of glorious regret,
And with God’s honour now unite the names
Men signed in bloody sweat.
Let her new river shine on a day
That is fresh and glittering and contemporary;
Let it be true to itself and to its origins
Inventive, original, philosophical
Here, where the noises of the busy town, / The ocean’s plunge and roar can enter not, / We stand…
Every day is a fresh beginning;
Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And, spite of old sorrow and older sinning,
And puzzles forecasted and possible pain,
Take heart with the day, and begin again.
I remember the tilt of the deep canvas chairs, and then men
/ sitting idle,
/ And out in the paddocks a hoof…
In each bottle of nail polish a ghost / sets all the prayers in the house to glint.
When my last song is finished,
/ And my heart has lost its fire,
/ When passion is diminished,
/ And dead is all desire,
/ I pray…
Lord, this is pip-squeak calling.
/ Even with your infinite technology
/ I expect your line’s busy. Therefore
/ forgive me my witter, tucked…
Dear God, when zero time arrives
/ And I am in the killing stunt,
/ To take perhaps a dozen lives,
/ Or I myself…
There is a god who tends / the empty corners of public places / the spaces where no one goes…
The sun’s been tint for weeks. Deid maybe.
/ Likely drooned. Water’s aaplace, teemin doon
/ gutters and branders, rinnin aff the slates,
/ floodin pavements.
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