Litany

All night, all day, angels 
watching over me, my Lord. 

And him slipping off, 
letting the door close 
on mama’s prayer-voice, 
striking out over 
fencetops, slogging 
in cinders where 
the tracks go down past 
the high school 
into the world of 
blackened smokestacks 
and factories. 
                        Him 
stooping among cigarettes, 
a shriveled condom, 
cutting mock swords 
out of elm fronds, 
slashing into celandine, 
watching the yellow 
blood flow. 
                        Him 
pitching beer cans 
at mourning doves, hiding 
among stink blossoms 
in the tree of heaven 
when the five o’clock 
comes bearing his father’s 
face among the faces 
in the windows streaming 
home.

            And 
everywhere, everywhere,
the small sword lashing
out, the eyes lashing out,
and the tiny breath rising
over the burnt stones
and broken glass and grim
weeds of the earth, 
say, I am, I am.