Because the difference
between prayer & mercy
is how you move
the tongue. I press mine
to the navel’s familiar
whorl, molasses threads
descending toward
devotion. & there’s nothing
more holy than holding
a man’s heartbeat
between your teeth,
sharpened
with too much
air. This mouth the last
entry into January, silenced
with fresh snow crackling
on the window.
& so what––if my feathers
are burning. I
never asked for flight.
Ocean Vuong
