i’ve blindfolded myself and called it faith for far too long

i’ve grown into a sculptor now

one chamber per limb

all of which i finally want to hold onto

crossing guard, psychopomp, an outstretched arm

i’ll be good to break my bad habits

i’ll recite the crane’s sung prayers on my skin

and i’ll keep waking up

over

and over again

i’m molding what’s in front of me while

stealing colors from behind;

a bedroom window facing east,

a blond house,

and all my love

incarnate in wind chimes.