By Example

in a pure

kind of

prayer – no

whine or bleat,

just

there -

your feet

folded

simply, neatly

in the middle of

the chaos and

combustion that

is morning

rush – landslide

of cheerios, the howls

from combs nipping

knots, socks tossed

into hockey pucks

across the

floor – the time-

tethered clock

chasing me

over the nerve’s

edge – then

your calm

soles and how i

thrilled,

a kind of

ecstasy like

mary dousing

jesus with

oil, lathering her

long hair

against his rough

and dusty

arches i could

also kneel and

kiss those perfect

undersides that

open to

the hall light like

a pair of four

o’clocks

who sigh into

the throat

of afternoon

about to

taste the moon who

brims with a

tender

answer that

glitters yes in

every perfect crease

of each beloved

callous, of each

sweet

foot

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