Oh yes, thank you, I would
like a glass of cold water,
some place to rest, a shelf
of modest savings. I know
what pluviophile means. And so
I know the difference between
warm rain and a cold shower.
If I could, I’d wrap my arms around
an indigo sparrow; if I were small
as a bud, light as a petal. Wing
and sky are the closest words
I can think of resembling prayer.
Even on the lowest branch of heaven I’d
like to flutter a flag, unhitch my dress,
sink gratefully onto a bed of moss;
calm the nervous tattoo in my heart.