Trinity in Boston

The outside walls of the cathedral told me.
Carvings of men with large beards
Beards span half the face
Eyes heavy with the weight of god
Eyes downward in coward retreats of introspection
or pressed to the heavens, begging the Lord's forgiveness
Hands and forearms, clutching a cross or the Greatest words
dug into the pit of their stomachs
Pasted and fossilled into the building art
Reminders of why we walk for so long and leave hope
with each step, flapping like a fish, gasping
for air.
We go this long and always miss the waters
Reminders of where our hearts began
Reminders of the next coming day
We can always wake and leave yesterday as dusted shelves
constant cries on nightly pillows in between nightly sheets
tighter wrapped when the sickest events passed
when the mouth with which I was born becomes
a mouth that stinks of hellish things

I recall the songs and pipes of the organ
crawling like vines and touching the tallest ceiling
I hummed and moaned the notes I've never heard
I followed and spoke the words I've never heard
I heard and choked on prayers I've not before heard
The herd and I stalked the meadow on all fours.
Caressed across the hills in sweeping waves.
Came to a river and the rushing noise, stopped
and sipped and dunked our heads until the
shepherd patted our backs and wished us along.
I recall the bitter wine, the hands of my neighbors
I shook, and I loved them though they left as
fast as they came, the choir harmonized primitive
chants-basic of early human outreach...
intimidation when there was no technological magic.
Depth of echoes and volumes heard never outside these walls
and in this instant, this age, when all has
replicated and sense numbing rituals cloud our
minutes, STILL these walls frighten and shake
the soul's weak certainty and prove the love
and power we only wish to possess.

I woke weeks ahead to striking visions.
My torso tossed off my sheets and the morning lights
crashed into my eyes-glassy globes stirring in
a disintegrating dream I saw masses in struggle
pushes and movements I've grooved with
of no choice of my own and the storm
does not stop until we decide, the clearing
does not start until we beg, the clouds
will part when we cry against the wind
and our voices like bells howl painless
fearless screams. I say, we bring about
the clearing.

Weeks grown again and I'm far too thoughtful
Yet I've slipped, retreated, regressed
and swallowed by the angry sea
Goodness comes like tides. I'm no
doubter of simple things.

I miss you, Goodness. We will meet
when my limbs ache and carry weights. When
my eyes are glazed bubbles-dried and
turned to marble. When my neck is loose
and holds a heavy head. When I can
hold my tongue and down my rivers.