A Dictionary of the Cathedral

In my devotion, the candle was dumb.

It came to me in birds.

It came to me scuffed with thrust.

It came to me withered, split.

It came to me silent as a knife, fat with treasure.

It was a feather pluming my plow,

a borrowed dress dragged to dust.

In my absence, I could not find the husk.

Shame sailed its own boats.

Moat and drawbridge, I sent my hair down.

The instructions unraveled until I was one less

person than I promised to be.

The harp would lessen my fall. It pawed

my lap like every good story. It gulped light.

Threaded with regrets, each column stands

for forgiveness, bends like a bride toward

the disappointment of her promise.

The prayer unspoken. My body

as surprising as morning before

it is broken open.

[image error]