Dear god of little things, of ordinary things
of missing buttons and Tuesdays
of meadowlarks and river clover
Here is the simple arc of our lovers body
nestled in dream above the June morning,
ship, tiny song.
Mindful god of clocks and moth wings
of house sparrows and window latches
There are dandelions in the broken sidewalks
along Hudson Street who
Like everything, we have nothing.
Don't wake us. Leave us in the easy weave
of breath over bone. Fold us up
your book of days.
Say our name once and forget us.
From Reading The River, Whitaker Press, 1999