[fourteenth prayer]

I didn't think you'd actually listen

I didn't think you would lower your wrist down into the river

the squirmishes of minnows spreading a fire of dust underwater

if I can call it that

I've called it that just like I've called you my mother

my honorary rapture my honest gaping at the trees my gumption my clack


when I get going I throw all the bracken on the bushes

I stipple the sticks with white paint made from hair


is this your womb