Book of Praises: Jericho

This is the struggle to believe
you are love: that I can be naked
and ashamed to see you throwing knives
as if blindfolded.

But I’ve never been the good child:
this damned pyrite streak keeps
showing up as I get deeper.

Are you love?
Then, give me something lovely,
like the strength to keep
lovely things intact.

Or, give me glory; tonight
your smallest cubbyhole
would suffice.

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