in every hour

my hands are either an oracle
or a benediction. worship
is the death-cry of the understory
but still, in the hours of
torture, your dedication
reminds me of angels.

My hands are a benison or a trap.

and my mouth is a evensong.
let me sing lauds with it, quietly.
let me hum along my whole body
until I am taut. let me cry out
when the light overflows.

in every hour of pain, I remember your teeth fondly.

1996