Ephram Pratt Unveils Weeping Fingers

With fingers glowing,
while weeds climb the walls

of the garden,
his voice sounds like

a cry of despair,
a cry of loneliness,

a cry of verdant eloquence
caught in his

wayward words,
his words of sturdy valiance,

hanging in silence
and despair,

blue sea shells
eliciting electric fingers.

Coddle it if you can,
with virgin wool

covering his eyes
and ears,

like miracles of malice,
echoing into oblivion,

vaulted aghast,
like blank wizardry.

Jack e Lorts, a retired educator, lives in a small town in eastern Oregon. His “Ephram Pratt” poems appear widely online. His collection The Love Songs of Ephram Pratt appeared recently from Uttered Chaos Press.

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