At night when I am smallest

and the crater walls are high

the stones run fingers down my back

and press me up against the black

and I could swear I hear them cry

at night when I am smallest

I've begged you then to let me die 

and sometimes feigned a sudden slack

as if this grief were just a bear.

I'd never thought of it as prayer

when being shaken limp with lack

I begged you'd let me die

I've not consulted zodiac

or wailed at empty air

but, bent beneath remorse, confessed

as though a judge were standing there

who doesn't speak but echoes back

and in the silence after, I

can see the crater filled with sky

at night when I am smallest