Digression Before a Prayer

I might be unstinting in my praise of youby way of nature or the great singers of the age.I might come all unglued and resurrect

a chrysalis of the week, the transmogrifying factof heaven that stands at my bedstead and beckonswith a whisper: change your shape,

you won't regret it. I might wander the earthin this version, rebirth stamped on my foreheadlike arboreal light, might speak or not speak,

having put speech behind me. I mightconsider again the awestruck stars or the dewyuntrod grass, the perfectly leaky meaning

of things. Were we speaking of praise?Had you in mind unceasing appreciation,you couldn't have cracked a better egg than me,

and this you've known all along, I imagine,so I recall the luna moth and the coyote, evenrain stuck on a screen, and singing seems

a little enough request. The cup fills,the face bends to receive its peculiar sweetness.But shall we stop here? I had read the news,

and what of it, the other one, the bitterer cup?I might have wished to make a few pointsabout that, my advice to which you kindly incline

until it curls and stings at me, stung, yes,the sudden venomous self. I might curse youor the sky or history. Might suffer, then confess.