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.