Put the stones down warm from your hands
The quiet of your bed not so quiet
Always let the light in
Whether it comes from the sun or the moon
The finger that drew a pentagram on your car window
The sound of bottles in a trash bag
Being carried down the stairs to the dumpster
Find a cat there
A gift among the garbage
Focus on the journey as it feels now
Poet with a cock wanting to harden again
So many ghosts instead of gods
Your voice returns to me recorded well
I knew your name
And said it many times
With delight