Sonnet 31

Monday, January 15, 2018

Do you think I don’t know that when I say Lord

I might be singing into the silo where nothing is stored,

where it is written low lights were confused

by skyward light and flew its bodies

as birds against walls?

Well, everyone thrashes

against a wall

in this life.

I don’t know what I mean,

but I mean it. I don’t know what to want,

but I want it. And when I say God

it’s because no one can know it—not ever,

not at all—. It’s a wall.

And it drops to the floor as I fall.

Monday, January 15, 2018