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james mcgonigal
Poet  •  Critic

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             Night Prayer

So we lie down to raindrops
syncopated patterings out of beech leaves
soaking earth

while the bull in the nether fauld
snuffles and stinks through mild sou’western
mirk, on which

our house floats, rafted on children’s breathing,
a still beam from this window the only
steering oar.

Switch out the light.
Drift with them in the dark,
father.

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