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.
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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.
on the road to nowhere fast
holy rock and stone flies pass
speeding sky dawn’s overcast
where mountain gulch
stream onward fast—we drive
on happy high of summers past