The Refrain

a new poem

The Refrain

Beneath morning’s gray, lopsided 
ceiling, I grip the air for balance.
Air like glass in fragments—
the frigid drizzle. Walking,
I hold a prayer in mind, not 
repeating, but breathing 
each word anew. 
I pass the lawn 
with the dead sunflowers
(their black, caved-in faces) 
and tomatoes heavy with rot—
vines sagging toward the sidewalk. 
Chalk drawings faded by rain:
mangled stick men
and slogans smeared illegible.
Like the mind without prayer.
Like the mind without prayer 
to resolve the shattered sound
of the animal I am.