daily prayer: for the dead

something that took so long to put to bed
& now a quieting
………………………….in the invention of streetlights
on my dark face, breaking into handfuls—

………………HERE, the word yolk would be
the sound of the door bending on
………….your tangling city. The blue of
your hair
………………..hovering three feet above the
ground & lawns, lace, lawnless

altitudes gratefully in your pocket.
……I mistake your swimming for the sound of a night
filling with horses!

 

A. R. Zarif is from Chicago. His work has been featured or is forthcoming in BOAAT, Foundry, Muzzle Magazine, Frontier Poetry, The Wilds, NECK, Two Peach, and Ninth Letter. He holds an MFA from Brown University.