{κύριε ελέησον}
sometimes at night i hear you whispering
sobs bone-dry in your throat like cold air on an open sore
they don't reach farther than your chapped lip-edges (you taught me to be prouder than that)
(but the trembling that shakes the bed isn't all from winter drafts)
are you praying, far-seer? who is your muttered begging going to reach?
your husband's God is dead. the spirits you abandoned for Him,
do they forgive more easily than you? or perhaps it's Winter Himself
you're pleading with, in this show of useless faith
–don't look at me like that. did your faith ever make the crops grow or the snow stop
or keep you master in your own house?
(but you're not looking at me
my lips are moving no louder than yours because your brother is curled against your back and i don't know where mine is
just that he's not here
and the night is dripping frozen off the dying moon)
you're asleep
lashes flickering
pulse rough and fast
i put my hand out and touch your hair like a swallowed breath
you used to be so strong