by Daniel Edward Moore
Lord, if you will let these eyes
watch the miraculous optics improve
on the screen of another tombstone day,
I’ll blow kisses in a tran-sub-station
at strangers dipping bread in wine
from a hole in the glass of your hand.
I’ll sing 30 songs of silver to you,
my faithful ruler of rope who
braids my breath with beatitudes.
Lord, if those Pentecostal wings
could fan the sparks in a world gone dark,
I’ll love you the way a blind man does
with fingers feeling for cracks.
About the author
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island.
His poems are forthcoming in Nixes Mate Review, Lullwater Review, El Portal, Emrys Journal, The Meadow, West Trade Review, Toho Journal, The Big Windows Review and Route 7 Review.
He is the author of ‘Boys’ (Duck Lake Books) and “Waxing the Dents” (Brick Road Poetry Press).
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