Prayer with Hands Tied

Prayer with Hands Tied

Matthew Carlin

Lord, I am here in the garden,
scratching at what binds me.

Some nights I sleepwalk to the river,
wash my hands until they are raw.

Once, I saw you for a split second
in a doorway, my breath in the rain-

slick street. Save me was the refrain—
now it’s breathe.

Some nights thunder their dark
architecture inside me, Lord,

and some nights a name turns like a key
under my tongue. Give me

some other hunger, some radiance
I can weave between my fingers.

Make me tarnished and beautiful,
always at the edge of your vision.

What pierces me through the center,
pins me between earth and stars,

I cannot see in the dark.
I cannot sleep until you touch me,

Lord. Lift the hammer up,
pound the nails out.

---

Matthew Carlin
Poet

Matthew has previously been published in Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Vinyl, and Bodega

Photography by Taylor Young