The Third Mercy
Lord have mercy on
me, mercy wild
as the prayers flying from my opened back.
They disown me. No longer safe, they flock
to heaven by themselves, so few those miles
compared to their journey out of me, piled
against the back of my teeth’s thin crack,
or riding salt-blood, sweat, or tear’s tracks,
too few and too heavy to reconcile.
Christ have mercy on me and cast your grace
out, wild as a net over my prayers.
Redirect them from my broken place.
If they flutter through my layers,
I’ll get up. If they fly to kiss your face,
I’ll wonder why I resisted despair.
