Sacrements

Be this hallowed hour Let the flame stand still, Come forward unto my palm, Sway only like a flick--of my wrists Small tiny little proofs, that my blood was talking Now hushed cornfield at night, Waiting for the wind, I'll be at a tear, waiting for a blink, See with all tendencies of mercy Forgiveth me Father, I am a child;humbled by my weight Naive to my unseen ways.