Ascension: (Psalm 102:7)

—Ryan Romine

I watch the pieces of cloud crumble under the pure blue

and am as a sparrow, a dark-eyed darling, wind tossing

her flush face against those invisible corners

where the air mingles with dust and seed.

 

Trees stretch toward me, their shadows

spread like dark capes in the afternoon heat.

At midnight, in the hearth of circumference, their wooden rings

help calm the quivering leaves.

 

My weeping is silent, it ascends like smoke. Prayer flies past me like a pelican,

majestic over the morning lake. And I remain destitute, watching for owls

alone upon the house top.

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