from Novena

Let me know the distance

from your ghost to my bones.

Let these knees singe the ground

under coal-brushed clouds.

Let my voice grow into prayer

with my face against the soil.

Let the seed begin the tree,

the taproot kiss through stone.

Let hands grow to branches,

divide and rise to green.

Let fingers flower into leaves

and wander to the sky.

Let churning be an icon,

the beginning to your reach.

Let rain create the heat,

and batter every leaf.

Let lines of lightning chalk the sky,

fierce flare to flash and rush.

Let my pieces smolder

in the absence of your touch.

~Dave Harrity