If you've seen a prayer spoken, you know something    of what I mean. The purpose of the prayer list,        read by the priest aloud, prior to a silence, is to hold        names' wetted wafers in the mouth. A person    creaks like small gravel—you told me that.You told me trees make speech sounds, growing.You're not one person, but it's clear you're far    from the plot I've made. Hard ground. Every cold         recalls first cold, as in my Virginia's first winter, a wind        half-silvered, sharp as a mirror we're given back through .    but through which we can't see. Same as now. In Appalachiasometimes a German custom kept: sink a nail in a tree at the height of a child, to cure her. This presumes the child    has time to grow past what's driven. Presumes incantation        and walking eastward. Certain conditions must be met        that other events may follow. The list keeps growing    in quiet. The mirror might show a fix and distanceyou didn't intend. Land slips. Its red color.You take the child from home to tree before day; neither of you    may speak a word. And if you've seen a handmade nail,        you can't help but draw the modern ones        backward, the way art of dark caves portends our paintings:    an abiding absorption in effigies, marks, and askingthat something happen, and in the way we want.