Prayer after virtue

social waves of innocent people
contemplate ballistic skies
The lights of Seabrook folding inward
The Atlantic shaking like the fourth of July

I swore to God I heard Him speaking
through the static of charred goodbyes
And floating thoughts in rivers tweaking
Sentences composed while high

I chase the sound of sterile beacons
memories of winter sighs
the ache of longing still was sweet then
now it sags like tired thighs

church roof eaves leave bevels bleak with
snow lashed to the tips of eyes
apartments old enough to think in
residue of cleaner times