I must find a home somewhere
in the wreckage of the world.
I must wash the feet of God
and learn how to pray without a tongue.
I must kill a war in the womb
and fuck uncertainty to death
and abandon the dogs of memory
instead of feeding them—
no matter how young,
no matter how hungry,
no matter how much they whine.
I must resist walking too close
to the edge of the ditch of grief
but I reek of falling.
I am falling.
