For a short time each morning
it is possible to believe
that God spent the night
cutting the flat black shapes
of trees from the sky,
wondrously complicated holes
that only become visible
when the sky’s light
begins to slowly come on.
It is an exercise in faith
ruined differently each morning.
For instance, today by two crows.
Then God must start over—so
many branches to retrace and snip—
it’s no wonder he can’t
hear our prayers.