Learning to Pray for Your Solace

Even if I shook you, I know
I couldn’t knock loose the nest
where fear dwells like a crow.
I wish a flock of swallows.
In the middle of the city
there’s a forest where a path goes down—
a soft path where your feet make no sound.
I wish an open doorway.
You can reach into the mud and find
a round rock. You can rinse it in the river
and roll it from hand to hand.
Somewhere—can’t you hear it?—somewhere
a door opens. A door opens
and a flock of swallows flies through.