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I will stand at my guard post … keep watch to see what he will say to me—Habakkuk 2:1

The upright scrawl of leaf
cleaving last to the fig tree I mistake

each daybreak for the bird-messenger,
the one which I am sure will come

flare the mouth of morning. The Psalmist
says you are faithful, you are just;

give answer. Not in pre-dawn darkness
which dims my discerning, not in crashing

confusion from the street, please,
but in yellow murmur of petals, dropping

cursive of honey, low liminal hum
of bees. You are tender, you are gentle; give

syllables of yourself in spilling light. Wings
of white-throated swift, the slow opening

of pinecone, release of seed, snowcap roses
in loosening splendor. My written hand—

clay and so near ground, held up
to you, empty—waits

if not quite for an answer, then for some sprig
or scribble from you.

Photo by Kendal on Unsplash

Laura Reece Hogan

Laura Reece Hogan is the author of Litany of Flights (Paraclete Press, 2020), winner of the Paraclete Poetry Prize, the chapbook O Garden-Dweller (Finishing Line Press), and the nonfiction spiritual theology book I Live, No Longer I (Wipf & Stock). A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, she is one of ten poets featured in the anthology In a Strange Land (Cascade Books). Her poems have appeared in or are forthcoming in America, First Things, The Christian Century, Sojourners, Spiritus, Whale Road Review, Dappled Things, Cumberland River ReviewEcoTheo Review and other publications. For more of her work, please visit www.laurareecehogan.com.

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