God Says "Wait"

In the late harsh dark

set rigid as the point

of a compass

made of ice,

one breath is pain.

It is cold like fear. It is

fear, swaddled and laid beside

my flesh, like a stillborn child

that I might get warm again.

I wake a demon. Not waked

complete, but with hands

wrinkled empty like paper

thoraxes, hanging claws.

Sleeping screamless and open-mouthed,

burning like the void,

my eyes are hell.

I say please take it,

the bone in my throat.

I say please.

God says “wait.”

In the bright harsh day

alone,

it is near as death. It comes

to my ear and breathes.

I say please take me,

I won't sleep. I say

please.