Trying to Pray
This time, I have left my body behind me, crying
In its dark thorns.
There are good things in this world.
It is dusk.
It is the good darkness
Of women’s hands that touch loaves.
The spirit of a tree begins to move.
I touch leaves.
I close my eyes and think of water.
Such a fierce poem, and very real in my life just now. Wright always moved toward the core of the poem – then cut away any imperfections. What he heard was the strongest, and the truest of words.