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