Rest

by Laura Cronk

I wish I was a priest.
I wish I wore buffalo horns
and an ivory orb
as a mitre on my head.
High holidays and times
of despair-
what to do
and more importantly
what to wear
decided,
unyieldingly glam,
form untraceable
beneath the pooling blue.
I wish I had that far off look,
holding up a white flag 
to the crazed fertility
coming between me
and the great, pure ocean.

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