Saturday, August 7, 2010

I sleep better with bones

Dear God I gave you my throat, you stained
my fingers at the Sun’s benediction
You should know by now I have a sixth sense
for electricity, and I know very well about hunger

I used to believe you were a grizzly, of the sky
Not the fluffed, what-do-you-see-in the-clouds-kind
but the one with claws, my thigh remembers
how you rested on that final day

Is it possible I never feared bears, though I cut
off what was pretty, I sleep better with bones,
bird-shaped, beside the bed

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