To the Sun God

Knees red from prayer

I sweat I swear I sick I

sorry skyward—

I see a finger in my mirror

aimed external—look

a little away and there, look

a less expensive solution

I seep gratefully into

words till words work

as well as they will

I remain imperfect clay

I lay an egg

Sometimes the walled city of grief reerects

Sometimes a door

God’s hair

peeks out slow

spurning trumpets

Beneath this light yes

and I am willing