CHURCH

Tags

poem, Universe

CHURCH

she wakes
this Sunday

puts on her
best dress, her
best shoes

sits in Church
in a friendly pew

sings
her heart out
lets her
voice soar

and I
who am ice, whose
soul has
gone
stone cold

wish
I could hear

OUR LITTLE SHIP

in our little ship
we crossed the Equator
and so Neptune and his retinue
swarmed aboard
like pirates hungry for
treasure and wild melee

but in the process not
forgetting our initiation
baptism by salt and water and
much sea greens

which left us (when they left us)
feeling
as naked as seals, dolphins,
sharks, porpoises

but as we swam together,
as streamlined in
sudden synchrony