Communion in the Park

Men in the park

grip brown paper bags

certain as Catholic nuns

grasp their faith,

both counting one

by one, until neither

makes any difference

in the course of eternity.

Two paths, one park bench—

Angelic in their own rite.

The time between collision and capsizing

There is something very scary

about imagining a life without flaw,

as if insecurities were a sin

you could merely pray away?

There’s something cynical in that,

something dangerous.

Something I haven’t the heart to feel,

it’s something impervious.

Because with great peril comes

an even greater awakening, an awakening

which floods the veins with frozen certainty

as the waters eating the Titanic.

It’s the time between collision

and capsizing, which we find ourselves

relieved of our blind faith, knowing

with grave admiration, the life

we’re living, is all we have.

July Reflection, 2020

the times I’d lost my mind.

The only time

I was ever certain, were

the times I’d lost my mind.

But even then,

I never had a clue — I did.

your ghost I implore.

I don’t want any trouble

still you give me double

alone in this bubble

which I can’t ignore.

The trail is subtle

some bread crumbs and rubble

your sinister cuddle

remembering more.

Traumatically speaking

I guess that we’re even

transfixed in this feeling

of which I abhor.

But I found this Agate

it’s my force of habit

to deal all this crap with

your ghost I implore.

Relieve me this burden

there I’ll know for certain

whose shadow is flirting

from under the door.

For years I’ve been knocking

from inside this coffin

perhaps I’ll find out when

I dwell nevermore.

Though we both know

we’re bound evermore.