Lord, I am
stung: your name
crisp as a wasp
upon my tongue,
I blister, lame
less than I am
numb from
wanting: clenched
as the mantis is,
I knelt in dust,
stuttered open,
full of throat
and pulse, each
red cell swollen
like the locust's
husk with longing:
but O, hollow
vowel, hum
of the bare folds
of the breathless
lung, your prayer
has emptied me
of breath begun
in calling: all
I know above
us is the echo
of my own
voice, baffling
the absence
of reply.
Malachi Black by Malachi Black | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
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