Night Prayer
At the end of the cove
at the end of the world
there is a darkness
and a silence
that is pure home
here the spirit enters itself
saying this is where I come from
this is where I belong
the mind looking on at this
says bless me with your depth
your beauty and your grace
Talking to Yourself
you’re mind’s still a-chatter
with all those attachments
the grind of the engine
salary road that brought you here
I’m saying keep the fire going
even as the tide comes in
I’m not waiting for an answer
playing solitaire
like a gangster on the lam
a ghost breathing in the walls
what do you have to return to?
what’s really so hard?
you might think yeah
and lay down another card
my grandmother burned through decks
wearing off numbers and faces
going blind until the game was
just a way to keep her hands busy.
Douglas Cole has published six collections of poetry, a novella, and The White Field, a novel. His work has appeared in several anthologies as well as The Chicago Quarterly Review, The Galway Review, Bitter Oleander, Louisiana Literature, and Slipstream. He has been nominated twice for a Pushcart and Best of the Net and received the Leslie Hunt Memorial Prize in Poetry. He lives and teaches in Seattle. His website is https://douglastcole.com/.