“234″ by Casey O’Malley

She carries the moon in her mouth this woman,
Cradles her words like mints folding her tongue around the gift like
She can't feel with her fingers she sees things differently
With her heart, the stars gravitate to her palms as she
Blesses dinner, blesses me with her presence and
Blesses my writing calling me a prophet when I haven't been to a
Palace of religion in months, I am a drifter
And every place of worship is my home

And she loves me for that heart
That bending will, she calls me her baby
Her dreamer her child but I hardly know her

She sits at the park, next to me on a bench and asks me what I am writing,
If it will change her change the world or go places,
I tell her I hope and she takes my hand like it belonged to her
In one grasp, passes me her story asking to
Take it places, passes me her heart
The moon from her mouth and teaches me to pull.