This story isn't one, when

long ago my brother

and all of the human

machine wept. Such is light

ning. Such the slow fires

too. So I didn’t learn to pray

not now with time twirling

like a tulle dress down

not then, in Colorado crying

out in rigorous terror. Most

I ever managed was to sit

in an empty church at dawn

and sob from quiet pews:

why did you wake up?