Descending to the west
the moon is but a single, pale eyelash
on the rosy cheek of the horizon.
One blinking star, a planet I guess,
at the ether’s edge.
My whole body is a prayer.
My words are the black trees, the upward pull
just beneath my eyebrows.
If I pray hard enough
I’ll lift right up, dissolve
top down,
my toes the last thing
to touch the earth.