The churches are full of gilded hunger,

drunk on blood, praying with hands closed.

But the pagans pray with their hands open,

So I leave the rotten dogwoods,

for the shivering willows,

and spread my hands out,

breathing so deep

that my lungs could fit the entire world inside.

---

The kids won’t be alright, 

but their hands will be empty:

open wide to take the torch.