even though it can not be said.

.




Worth unravels;
merit of a different age
paints my lips, garishly
and with open shame.

Light becomes nothing more
than the force that casts the shadow
of a cathedral spire.
And we pray, knees against stone
inside the apse, looking down,
rejecting even the muted sunlight.

We shiver as we mumble,
sweat and spit on our chins,
pathetic and unexcused, to heaven;
eyes up and slick hands clasped.

The sweeping lines of my grey dress
have collected dust;
your hair is longer now--
it sways slightly in front of your face,
matted with grease.

That is all that I can see of you.
It has been so long.
I have forgotten the words of my prayer;
nothing of that remains in my voice.








.