Little Invocation

Don’t open the blinds; give me fifteen minutes.

This morning my mind like a century

which sees the rise and fall of 22 emperors

and all I’ve done is empty the dishwasher.

Grant me a sweet cup of forgetfulness, god.

Let’s blot out the never-made call to the lonely friend.

The baby sunflower, gift from my son, I didn’t water

four days in a row.

Once I wrote a twenty-page paper delineating

all the muscles bones tracts synapses involved in speaking

the word spring.

Envision a system of wild estuaries, derivations,

deer skeleton, river thaw,

the road to the contagious hospital.

Now say it aloud.