Lid

Having drunk from
the dark milk of
predawn, we
gather around

death's door and
bow our heads
in fear.  Words
dribble from the

lips of a priest
who seems duly
unconcerned.  Dirt
pelts the lid

of what's left of
one dearly departed.

Eucharist

God, who gives
us this day our
daily dead (Hoover),
is broken into

bits of bread by
a priest who finds
himself thinking
about the fish

that got away
instead of concentrating
on the celestial slices
he deposits one by

one on the tongues
of the dying.

In Exchange

The song a
deaf boy
applauds reminds
his blind friend

of a painting
he likes to look
at with his
eyes closed.

The blind boy
opens his eyes
to listen to the
song his deaf

friend enjoys looking
at with his hands.

Prayer

The sound of a
lake catching fire
mimics everything
I ever thought

about prayer.  The
immaculate deception
is all I can remember
of my earliest

childhood and its
hooks.  I open
my umbrella
upside down to

protect myself
from impure thoughts.

Noon

Noon (picking
up where it
left off the
day before)

drops like a
hammer, driving
shadows into the
ground as if they

were nails.  Nothing
else is permitted to
happen at that
moment.  No

difference of opinion
utters a sound.

Anywhere

God had just
begun to believe
in himself when
he accidentally

pulled the plug
and went down
the drain with
the bath water.

This happened when
no one was watching,
which explains why
there is no film

or even a memory
of it anywhere.

The House

In one wall there was a door.
There was a knob on the door,
and when you turned this
knob, the door opened.  You

were then able to go inside
the house if you wanted.  The
inside was divided into rooms,
some small, others large.  Sitting

in a small room made you feel
larger than you were.  Sitting
in a large one made you feel
smaller.  You could adjust

your size by quickly walking
from one room to the next.