Frannie

She says a dawn novena, worries about her feet, wonders who will see her, love is a trap door, knows what secrets to keep, hangs around the floor, every tune's a trigger, s golden shuffle conceit, hard times for soul singers, hope rises at the shore, but when night turn green she tends to pray alone, is God having a snigger, to ignore her depth of need, no test is ever bigger, perhaps a communion order, even a slow retreat, tells her the score, lets her dream.