Hung Up

I've hung this prayer like wallpaper
lining up the seams
pasting the trailing vine against structure
and stepping back to check my work
for completeness and rigidity.

Everywhere I turn
this my vision
until it lost all sense of the familiar...
as foreign as another's hand
at the end of my own arm.

I've recited this invocation so often
I became an actor within it
the sentences coming loose of the script
and nouns stepping out of character
to confer with one another.

From the fallen word, letters
wriggled away like souls
departing in legion, but not free
caught with their work undone
                between.

I watch them reassemble into song
hauntingly familiar, the score of which
papers my walls.
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