A poem by Travis Wright

At evensong, the lifted book toward which we
wait, and bow, like birdsong
across a glassy top, or 
bodies driven by silence toward
combat and song. 

Only touch us, Lord,
and leprous praise will rise
once more.

Travis Wright lives with his wife Emily and their small daughter in Charlotte NC, where he studies at Gordon-Conwell and works in discipleship at All Saints. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in the Brooklyn Quarterly, Anthropocene, and the North American Anglican, among others.