BLACKBERRY

one fold, one shepherd-
they follow  heads bowed;
before the young have
looked to lead others
upward toward the sky
staring  past the present
across the mountain
beyond  horizons
farther than the moon;
but now, left alone
to their devices
as if deft fingers
will take them to new
worlds,  it is the first
generation I
have known that seeks its
future by always
looking down at its hands

LITURGY

I. Introit 

From across the street, nearly a block
between us  I see him and fix my stare
away,  but  drawn back to  him probing
his crusty nose, and raising the same
hand he hails me, like a snot monger
hawking his wares;
                                    I step lively
off the curb with a shrug
feigning a failed remembrance,
he peeks out from my past now
matted and coarse under the crown of
his grimy cap,  I look away
to disabuse him of any notions,
and turn around the corner
 to rebuild the temple of time
between us suddenly
 to step back
to look at  the shadow
remaining where he had stood
like a stone rejected;
stark in my discomfort,
panicked,  I am thinking
very well  he could be
the least of these,
the least of these.

 
II. Homily

and he said it is said
the earthquake is the
most fearsome phenomenon
                                    the very earth itself
shifting underfoot the
frightened soul forced from
its body scurrying
back and forth across the
fractured floor of reason
emotional debris
drops like dandruff on
sloped shoulders already
weighed down with grief and guilt
the proverbial straw
alighting on the back
of the camel standing
sentry at the manger
scene, it is as if God
Himself has shook the earth
like a Christmas snow globe
and the force of movement
misaligns the very
sacred into the scared

 
III. Offertory

I know your motives as well as I know 
The grain of  my own beard,  drummed down my throat
By the tympanic twang of your stretched  voice;      
And what has it gotten me, preacher man-
A ration of guilt, the sour taste of
Torment  on my tongue and the echo of
Clucking voices in my head when I take
A few pleasures in life;  Mercy.  I have
To abuse myself for penance, flog my
Manhood until it spits and cries.  Lord have
Mercy; I should have stayed secure in the
bosom of the Mother Church  A few extra
denarii in the mitre box and
sleep like a baby;  now I’m tortured.
You make it sound so simple, just  have faith.
Very simple indeed St. Paul:  believe
and be baptized. Believe  in  faith alone,
the paradoxical redundancy
How much belief, how much faith; It  is far
easier and comforting to pay for
indulgences; you can see the  cold coins
dribble into the collection plate, 
clanging forgiveness made manifest.


IV. Communion

shrugging he enters through
the  heavy door  murmurs
of music heard first in
the street  shout as he slips
inside,  from a fold of
faded bills  he finds the
cover,  a chapel veil
in the palm of his hand, 
pleased  to be inside saved
from  the concrete cold of
the  crosswalk and cab stand
 now full of a mellow
merlot  and  stale pretzels
from his  corner he watches
the  shapely girls move up 
the queue  receiving their
drinks and benedictions
from the smarmy server
and raising another
snack to his lip he loses
his grip the fragile host
from his fingers now falls
lighting on the  filthy
floor to remain under
gravity’s force on time
staying where its future lies.


V. Recessional

riding up here, rain cloud
high,
six hundred miles per
 
hour

above the mountains
 
I feel I
could easily be
 
Judas’s soldier
piercing
the tender flank of God.