Praise the Lord, oh my somersaulting soul. 
It reels, it brims, it bursts with praise

for forbidden fruits on sugared lips, 
your dewy temptations
and my watering mouth.

for shoddy acoustics and middling
sermons, your forgiving ear 
on our fallen body.

for the feral fox and rodents’ wheels, 
your endless hide and seek 
after my dancing compass.

for constellations swathed in cloudy
curtains, your burning nearness
and my billowing doubts.

for unfinished poems that tendril 
to silence, for all my loves 
I cannot name.