From this month’s issue of Poetry:
She said God. He seems to be there
when I call on Him but calling
has been difficult too. Painful.
And as she quieted to find
another word, I was delivered
once more to my own long grappling
with that very angel here–still
here–at the base of the ancient
ladder of ascent, in foul dust
languishing yet at the very
bottom rung, letting go my grip
long before the blessing.
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