One morning I will awaken. I will awaken in the simultaneous lighting of the street lamps at dusk outside my window– a thousand eyes thrust open like stars.

I will awaken in an altar candle– wick thick with finger slick white oils– pull the string between my fingers and the thread in my lips like an envelope seal– seal

me shut in the supped palms of a chestnut scorched by the swift crackling flames in the broken knuckles of pine trees. I am dry enough for kindling.

I will awaken.

I vow to awaken.

I will awaken once I trace the constellations in the street lamps– I’ll sleep walk into the avenue– grasp embers from red-truck headlights– wake up in collision.

Everything is patient and quiet in adoration. We hold the cross in white cloth. Violent like a sunset I will awaken.