Analysis of Litany

Forgive us in our not knowing.
Our heads bent in expectation;
fervent tupor,
ending like a tongue depressor.
Drawn out,
pressing water.

More providence would lead headlong,
past all meadows.
Here, we tarry:

Mother,
Our umbilicus, indivisible.
White knots through the belly,
out the pupil,
slammed door.
Same green pasture,
borne of the same love.
You expect for two.

Arrangements are made in advance,
(wood cuts, wax and paper scars.)
to appear before a cheery background,
unsurprised.

Lover,
More good in you,
than every buttercup.
You drain the chaff, draw the pith,
set us like stalks
from bed.
from wandering.
I don't call this love,
my chest rising, then not.
Should I notice?

Still, these are small events,
like housework's miniscule baptisms.
Up, to live another day.

Myself,
Gathered in, mid-flap.
Full of tiny engines, awaiting pistons.
I pour myself out,
another hole appears.
I suppose I am nothing,
only perfect chances,
flat, thick under wood.
Swallowing the secrets.