The light crushes on him.
His vermilion robe
hides his white back
like a fading sunset.
His bones protrude
in the private sanctum
of his nakedness.
A wafer is placed on the tongue
of a supplicant.
Fury inside the bread.
A starving ration of God’s pity.
Did God listen to every prayer
you said?
Did he pause in the separateness
of each person and say,
your hunger is mine.
We belong to each other.
Fill yourself with my abundance
outside.
A wafer is not enough.
A word is not a gospel.
I will meet you at the door.
Bring the old priest with you.
He needs someone to hold his hand.
To soothe his doubt.
To relieve the heaviness of his robe
and forget death for awhile.
Come and play in the street.
Forget your sadnesses
or why anything
has to be other than what
I put inside you,
the fullness of a beautiful love.