These are my splintering
Prayers to the night:
Would someone
Hear them
And wring them
And dribble them into
The dust?

I mustn't know the teething
Lust that dulls and dampens
The nerves;
Should it brush my face 
Like a waiting wind,
I will be ready

Show me the essence of time;
I will cast it to the
Cosmo's golden pallet

Cradle my heart in
Your water-pot and
Give it meaning
I am nothing but my
Beating song;
I am not the voice of
My lover

Let the works of my mouth
Reflect my script,
And mine alone
I am not the foot-trail of
My ancestors

I know nothing of love
But hand it to me
Gently; and give me
The nerve to fling it across
The canvas, for I have
The world to reap

Let me never pull
The plug,
Lest it be out of
Hopelessness and
Infinite understanding
Until a light is rendered,
The world is breathless
And unbound

But most importantly:
Let me be filled with
Timeless wonder

I hunger for youth