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in the depression of afternoon
and dripping with sweat
I am writing a prayer
I lean over my desk alone
unaware of my sweat-drenched clothes

knowing that the moment is near at hand
my style becomes more responsive
after writing the word “angel”
I feel the tip of my pen lighten instantly
but when I mention “God”
it becomes a dragging, dead weight

after touching on the word “resurrection”
the ink begins to gush
from the tip of my dreary pen
the same way spring water wells

this is the moment I have looked forward to for so long
and I sense that my pen
is happier just now than I am