Sunday Service

Holy man in the subway, fingers stretched to breaking across a pearl keymap
(Well, maybe not pearl
But close enough in the Universal Scheme)

Seeks a new sound—
One to break the deadlock of evolution
And unite the world as one.
But the world is already one:

All gods are the same god,
Of the same spark fanned
And bred;
Lonesome walks the traveler who
This great truth.

But the Holy Man is not lonely,
For he sits among the rest.
They pass him by without a thought,
But the squawk of his horn is
The pouring forth
Of the same confusion.



Wake slow and let up, Winter,

Blossoms tight and

Closed to a new day—

Isn’t that just fear of wonder?

The lonely place where teardrops dry out


And fall beside those aging kingdoms

That serve as markers for children

Who keep looking away

From the lights that guide them

Along the miles that slither into time.