Silence in a church
Refuge for the word weary
Briefest of brief
Moment
Loud whispered aspirations
Louder vocal prayers
Local news passed on
Between statues
She pauses in front
Of me
Thinking she knows
Me
Smiling dementia
She is a book
Without chapters
Unbroken flow
Of words
Five hundred pages
Long
A faded grandeur
Battered sparkling
Red shoes in hand
Makeup-smeared
I hold her hand
Breaking the silence
Touching God
She leads me barefoot
In the Pavilion of Mercy
To a sort of homecoming
No comments:
Post a Comment