Kateri (2): a prayer for the sick

She dances, with me, shucking braids and feverish ears,
  heedless of any love unto death

Every outstretched palm, fleshed tight with her, I give
  like the moon and sea bird
     -in fact, felt in prayer

like the tide as knife cuts a lake of spume and reed
    in fact, a clutch of water reeds-

  & like every hillock loosed from her shawl

Then eyes will narrow to her own sweet slantwise striation
      -a kind of delectation, for me

also to be felt in the ghost of a young girl's fever,
  the always wild-sweet clammy hand