Poetry’s sacred…
  prose not so much

One to be read
  the other to touch

The verse spoken freely
  in a nighttime array

Phrases eternal
  to outlive the day

The medicinal magic
  that hides in each line

Lifts my body to flight
  in a nocturnal climb

The prose gets pounded
  and pounded again

And its linear sense
  I find hard to befriend

As twilight appears
  from the corner of my eye

Each couplet on fire,
  and I look to the sky

With my very last breath
  not taken in vain

It’s with meter and rhyme
  —I call to heaven again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
       ‘From The Book Of Prayers’