Hymn #89

4/22/11

The only places I can find you

are the ones that collect all the rain

the dust

the cobwebs

Places no one else could live except for spectral fantasies

Like the taste of a copper penny I find you in all the wrong moments

In between red lights and sips of too cold coffee

Laying naked with fibers woven into the basket with a hole that the farmer has since abandoned

seasons ago in the barn floor corner

Swimming waist deep in rainwater creeks formed in cement cracks flanked by sidewalk and backstairs

the four that lead up to the apartment complex where I gave myself to your hands

Dancing with angels on a poker chip in Atlantic City, wind blowing through your curls as the dealer rakes you in

Laughing all the way to Calvary as you swing on the rafters in St Andrew's Colosseum

while sopranos hit the high notes and the repentant sway in time

your chuckles trickle down and find me during hymn #89

"His Eye is On the Sparrow" but mine's on the door

I know you're on the other side hopscotching free the whole 12 blocks home

Sometimes waiting at red lights I see you bobbing one leg lifted, playing just because you can

Know I should be there, counting along, holding your hand but the tea leaves didn't read that way

And I am too scared to ask again.

to reshuffle the deck

roll the dice 'til our number's called

doesn't matter

lights green

and you're gone