THREE PEWS FROM THE BACK
I rub my hand over the grain.
Oh my, all the souls. All the souls, lost and found who
Have touched this pew, this friend, never angered.
All the souls in collapse, in love, in fear, denial—falling on.
Weep and search your soul—
and look up.
Walk out, Walk on, Find your seat in this waiting
this shoebox, this office of therapy,
Sanctuary of death, classroom of Life.
Hands patiently rest, take shelter behind me on my
and I wait, with sweaty palms, in dance,
Third row from the back,
Me and my angels take in the view.