Vespers

Lord in the pigment, the crushed, colored stones.

Lord in the carved marble chest. I turn away

from art. You are between my eye and what I see.

Forgive my errant gaze. Tonight, I can't sleep

and won't frighten the deer in my peonies.

Like children who rub their grimy hands over everything,

they only want to touch and be touched by grass.

They've never known violence, cars howling out of darkness.

Lord in the camellia, drifting in and out of sight,

like those blushing, perfumed heads will you welcome me?

I, too, am little more than a stranger in your garden.

Stroke my velvety antlers. Open your palms.