Xiadi Zhai

honeydew, hold me—
haggle over my seeds
with your
own— flower

over hovering
above hinging
upon you—
I like you in

on Monday evening, bleeding between
bricks & concrete, indecisive direction,
improper & traversing. weight
lurching, we force forwards. when a prophet
makes a mistake, I am not equipped
to forgive. even if he asks. sweating, knees
buckling, bobbing. we plead. jolted over
curbs & branches, I recite the Lord’s prayer
for the first time in ten years. somewhere,