Devotion

Instead, the year begins

with my knees

scraping hardwood,

another man leaving

into my throat. Fresh snow

crackling on the window,

each flake a letter

from an alphabet

I’ve shut out for good.

Because the difference

between prayer & mercy

is how you move

the tongue. I press mine

to the navel’s familiar

whorl, molasses threads

descending toward

devotion. & there’s nothing

more holy than holding

a man’s heartbeat between

your teeth, sharpened

with too much

air. This mouth the last

entry into January, silenced

with fresh snow crackling

on the window.

& so what—if my feathers

are burning. I

never asked for flight.

Only to feel

this fully, this

entire, the way snow

touches bare skin—& is,

suddenly, snow

no longer.