Hi my name is Carly Joy Miller and I'm reading my poem "Ceremonial Psalm" from my book "Ceremonial".

The poem I consider as the title poem for the collection. It really encapsulates this idea of the faith we create using our bodies and transpiring the world.

Ceremonial Psalm

Blessed art the wild boys
who cross reveries, all sweet
milk, sweet tongues.
Leave them, small as pins,
under a sky that folds 
like an eyelid.  
A kiss quicks a valley
of thirst, and Lord, never
let them thirst.
Must I saint
myself at the altar
of your thights, house
your sweat, cross
myself three times before
bells chime for more
salt?  Wound me instead.
With no music left,
play metal and dust
along my false ribs.
Measure my years in plums
and water, stones
and fire.  In grief.  
River my grief.  
Blessed art the drowned
boys, shot
boys, boys with shoulders
wide as wandering
albatross.  In fable,
hours drear on
with no sound.  
Wound me into a thousand
clouded rooms occupied 
with boys I could love.
If not for restraint.
If not for whims.
Each boy creases
his room, mercies
a corner in waiting.
Each lover I name
Lord.  Each Lord a new
ceremonial of wings.