Virgin of the vine, hear our prayer.

Black hour in which I buried Battus philenor
at base of Dutchman’s pipe.

Black hour in which zipper tooth
caught black cuticle.

Black hour in which I snapped at my father
as he slept in his chair
(if only in my mind).

Black hour in which I remembered
the other woman
and her multivitamin pyramid scheme.

The comma’s wings open, silver script
on a haint-blue field,
a question asked in scales:

what prayer belongs in the margins?

Caterpillar, chrysalis,
Christ have mercy.