Instead, the year begins
with my knees
scraping hardwood
another man leaving
into my throat. Fresh snow
crackling on the window,
each flake a letter
from an alphabet
I've shut out for good.
Because the difference
between prayer & mercy
is how you move
the tongue. I press mine
to the navel's familiar
whorl, molasses threads
descending toward
devotion. & there's nothing
more holy than holding
a man's heartbeat between
your teeth, sharpened
with too much
air. This mouth the last
entry into January, silenced
with fresh snow crackling
on the window.
& so what -- if my feathers
are burning. I
never asked for flight.
Only to feel this fully,
this entire, the way snow
touched bare skin & is,
suddenly, snow
no longer.