Under setting sun, Saint G teases me
with the very desire I’ve sought to ignore
as if to remind me that one can’t forget
what they have to try not to think about,
and it forces me to question:

is it wrong to pray to saints, asking
for blessings on another to be withheld,
to demand my chance to bask
in the spotlight of ethereal attention?

Well I’ve found strength in gardens,
in skylines, and in stars.
Through all my travels
I still haven’t found my home
instead of yet another road.

And in the new places these roads lead,
the same rewards rerewarded
tend to shine less and less.

Impossible desire reawoken, the rest of my night
will be spent trying to put it to rest
so when I finally lay my head on my pillow
the only prayer that will pass my lips
will be quite simple.

I’m tired.