A Summers Litany

sparrows flitting around the roof of a barn, the strangeness of another language in one’s mouth, lighthouses glinting through the mist at dawn, a eulogy scrawled by the light of a candle, an empty parking lot at midnight, desperation for freedom, desperation for sin, desperation for desperation’s sake, turning red upon making eye contact, convoluted prose, hearing music slurred between the walls from a bathroom at a party. the crispness of new fabric, golden cufflinks, a river with a muddy and unexplored bed, books from thrift stores with writing in the margins, books with stiff spines bought for an exorbitantly high price, books with stained yellow pages, heavy switchblades, the feeling of ivory in one’s hands, praying to god, pining for god, wanting to tear into the flesh of god, bloodied fabric left to dry outside. bare feet on a cold stone floor, blind faith, a breath always half-held, having light instead of veins, a ceramic mug full of clipped roses still speckled with thorns, cold and critical love, hot and grueling love, love for nothing at all, the vacant space in one’s heart where grief used to be, prophecies sent by priestesses and owls and flower petals, the longing ache of afternoon, white glitter.