Tuesday, November 26, 2013



I wind my way

to the top of the stairs

to a secret place

where prayers await


They do not come

out of me,

these supplications,

but cling to me there

like field seeds

to feral fur;

left behind by other

penitents or angels;

mice in corners

chanting to the One

The earth is full of

unspoken adoration

waiting to be ours

for the climb

-Kat Cavanaugh LaMantia 

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