days are busy, impulse flooded, inertia-bound

trains on tracks that i cannot stop. it is

so hard to turn off, away, or toward you.

mold me, if the sunrise comes

into a creature who cherishes my creator,

believes in Her power, sings with the carrion,

and never forgets to look out of the train.

i pray if my body rests here tomorrow

it will have been a beacon of hope

and a vessel of your presence.