Believe me

Believe me, I undressed stones

last night, woodlark–

Saint Anthony, I know

I could melt miracles into being-me.

Moon-spark. Light off my hip.

The sun’s about to. Dark or not, Saint,

listen. Letter-bloom or not. Just once,

I’ll call you, Saint Anthony,

the woodlark who waits on moon-sparks

over my bed. On the ceiling, silence

swirls toward undressing. Tell me

your name, please. Just once. Sing

how the sun’s about to call you, miracle-

ready. Are you? Undress, please.

Saint Anthony, listen–

Man. He’s my woodlark, stones

in his mouth. Believe me.


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