Unmade by prayer, It's my solemn duty to organize the stars into scriptures.
The horizon curves under our touch, expanding, billowing with our breath. God has a tendency to decompose into summer rain, so we clutch our clichés. We set sail, trudging through spring snow, shaking from our failed revolutions, and we batten down the hatches.
There is a late night moratorium on all things that don't smell like old books. At dark I kneel in tepid bathwater, worshiping my own words. When I started writing about God, I forgot that my room had windows.
I am more than myself, more than the stars. I'm a moth looking for warm light after the wideness of winter. I'm learning how to be made and unmade.
Zinnia Hansen is a high school student and poet from Port Townsend, Washington. She has a tendency towards abstraction, but a deep love of the idiosyncrasies that make us human. Her work has been published through the Young Writers Project, and she is a participant in The Hugo House Young Writers Cohort.
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