it won’t be long
the Japanese death garden sings wildly
across the world
I whistle back, a soft. black tune
and lose my eyes to winter
I sleep with her on desperate nights,
her hard skin teaches me
I am a body of ache for men to pour their
pain into, she tells me how to behave.
I cry that I am to be a desert,
I am naked, on my way there.
She holds me quick, against her cold
and blows me into prayer,
I lay deep in hell, but I swear, God touches me here.
He reaches through me and pulls
out a song. He whispers, “it won’t be long”
then asks me, again, for prayer.