water makes me sick
and Lorraine
if you had wings
you could fly to heaven
if you just had a quarter
instead you toil up
the steps shapeless
breathing
a painful
and terrific
slowness
a soundless arpeggio
my eyes hold their breath
meaningless and sustained
the sacred tree tick-tocking
solemn and profound
and she says in her single soprano
yes Jesus! the dry pulse
of her decaying house as two tears
slide down her fallen cheeks
I see the light and I see
the word
just sound
sometime maybe
she'll hold him at the nightfall
whilst the angels singing him to sleep
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