T J Jarrett

I am born. I dream the nightroom of your body,
and in that place, you sing, build me of words

That summer night, we gathered again around the table,
drinking with all the bugs that lit up and some that didn’t.
When Mike said: I wonder how my ex-wife is doing

When the ache was just too much, I’d skip
down the hill to the slip where you
and a small boat were always waiting.

I am not yet dead. Do not call this miracle or raise your hands in praise. First, 
you should know how long I prayed, and how I came to know the silence of the Lord.