There is so much God in the night
It became a desert.
In the attic office
Under a frail forty-five watts
My father reviewed
The parish tuition bills.
Three mornings a week he kept Mass
Where his prayers walked like men
Who worked their lives in warehouses.
He had to rub hard salves into their backs.
Later he saw inside of psalms
Like fingertips ripping
Into ripe peaches
And he licked them clean
Looking out his kitchen window
So: my brother built
Cities of nanometers
Where his two boys would learn to crave
The gritty touch of old pages
From heavy tomes,
And my sister sang and her voice
Was light-starved ivy scaling the sides
Of a steel-weary skyscraper
Left alone for one hundred years.
So: on the day I was born
Night was sliced in two
And abandoned in the blank canyons
Of my hands.
Tomorrow I will cup my palms
And wander away, so very far away…