I admit a bewilderment. The Lord
confuses me, makes me think
there’s no tree for my life, only
light and leaves, abandoned nests.
The rootless sadness before
the acceptance. I still look for
a kingdom of unlikely coins,
but the bodies of my gods
long ago took flight. I find their shells
between my teeth, fragile and sweet.
Belief is a one-winged bird, singing
in a thorn-choked thicket.
Feathers fall, my currency is spent.
Bewildered, I said. Not innocent.
Christopher Warner works as a brakeman for Union Pacific Railroad and lives in central Illinois with his wife, three small boys, and a Vizsla named Josie Rooster. His poems appear (or will soon) in Copper Nickel, Salamander, Spoon River Poetry Review, RHINO Poetry, The Normal School, Drunken Boat and elsewhere.