THE PILGRIMAGE
AND THE FAITH
Washing warrants with water, the alb
and the chalice combined. The glimmering
light from some lakeside pavilion leads me
to think of you - and things of that nature.
Just as I look over, squirrels are running the
table, scurrying by the branches low-hung
and twisted. They remind me, right now,
of words dangling down a page.
-
We have no rights to forfeit. We have no
means to discourse upon or explain. We are
to the shames of ourselves - big-words amidst
little meanings, gophers upon a field of gold.
-
If I stand tall, only then am I little higher.
My fabricized dreams, themselves reaching
heights of stars and comets, never fall to Earth.
The cloak I wear is made of them, that very
fabric of ought and combustion. See now,
here, how I light this feeble campfire upon
this lakeside field. Picnic grounds for pilgrims.
A hard cloth to wear for those who yield.
AND THE FAITH
Washing warrants with water, the alb
and the chalice combined. The glimmering
light from some lakeside pavilion leads me
to think of you - and things of that nature.
Just as I look over, squirrels are running the
table, scurrying by the branches low-hung
and twisted. They remind me, right now,
of words dangling down a page.
-
We have no rights to forfeit. We have no
means to discourse upon or explain. We are
to the shames of ourselves - big-words amidst
little meanings, gophers upon a field of gold.
-
If I stand tall, only then am I little higher.
My fabricized dreams, themselves reaching
heights of stars and comets, never fall to Earth.
The cloak I wear is made of them, that very
fabric of ought and combustion. See now,
here, how I light this feeble campfire upon
this lakeside field. Picnic grounds for pilgrims.
A hard cloth to wear for those who yield.
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