Afternoons. Daughters homing. Settling in again.
I believe in this.
I believe in the psalm of taps running,
doors catching, the oracle of the TV.
I believe in the church of our being, of two pairs of hands
delicate as angel’s wings.
I believe in the confirmation of the first period,
bloody rolls twisted in the waste bin.
I believe in the make-up ridges on the mirror
and in the visions detached from there.
I believe in our chains of longing, that we will be
unshackled in time. I believe in the valley of silence.
I believe in the river of loves cascading home.
Lord, remind us of this.