Ghost-bird, I
        Do to me according to what has gone out of your mouth.
                        Judges 11. 37

After my burning, father, I will sing you to sleep.

I fold myself within lake reeds and under beds of willow.
The sky is orange.

You tie flat-wood around me. I wait for flint
And spark.

My body utters me like a psalm. Makes bone etchings
Like the desert peoples.

Wind-swept, I have no wedding script. Without issue,
I have no resonance. I am

Ghost-bird, father—

Do to me according to what has gone out
of your mouth.

I am humming in your ear.
Against the word of your vow, I am humming

My runic diary.
Music is my only mastery.

Your vow shatters what you have made: Ghost-bird, I.

After my burning, I will sing you to sleep.

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Copyright © 2020 Eva Mary Hooker All rights reserved
from Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission