the prayers skipped out
lackadaisically
no destination even imagined
a shot in the dark
with no target
person, paper or god
or they traveled
haltingly
no matter their urgency
like the damp whisper of a snail
on a six inch journey across a stone
or at the speed of light
blazing unseen into some dark corner
of the universe
or maybe they just sat nearby
on the sill of a window
closed to time and space
waiting
yet the response
was quick and blunt
like a lightning bolt
to the deadened brain
giving no relief
only numbness
but even not feeling was a better answer
than no
Barry DeCarli
July 9-14, 2017
On South Street
©Barry DeCarli
