Hilary Dobel

Benediction For Another Year

You are already hamstrung

by sincerity, by a body

that remembers tails and claws,

vestigial things and nobody

sets out to be any of them.

You invoke a hard

benevolence, as the prayers

you meant to pray circle

your head with the spit

and gutter of half-burnt candles.

You hope it hears you, reaches

out a hand with a long

and painless sleep before

the aging of the world.

Under the floor, feel the cog

of her slowing. You rise,

seeing not yourself but

someone else rising.

You recognize this as a gift

but not the one you wanted.