If I speak for the dead, I must leave
this animal of my body,
I must write the same poem over and over,
for an empty page is the white flag of their surrender.
If I speak for them, I must walk on the edge of myself, I must live as a blind man
who runs through rooms without touching the furniture.
Yes, I live. I can cross the streets asking “What year is it?” I can dance in my sleep and laugh
in front of the mirror.
Even sleep is a prayer, Lord,
I will praise your madness, and in a language not mine, speak
of music that wakes us, music
in which we move. For whatever I say
is a kind of petition, and the darkest days must I praise.
Author’s Prayer by Ilya Kaminsky | Poetry Foundation
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53850/authors-prayer
Source: Dancing in Odessa (Tupelo Press, 2004)
