this is our duality:
pulled by water
held by land

we make the beach
a place of worship
give thanks for sand
for sea, for sun

mourn our bondage
to oxygen yet
fear to be welcomed
by deep water

we come here often
to the water's edge
though no farther

talk about release
but never dare
to take the plunge
                        

Photo credit: j.lewis

the allure is gone
the glorious gardens all brown
the shining city walls gone dull

gone the din of merchants
wooing prospective buyers
who haggle back in turn

the towers, the domes, the palace
cast shadows instead of light
tigris and euphrates both run mud

moldy grapes hang on desiccated vines
unharvested wheat hangs heavy with disease
droops over arid soil

above me storm clouds marshal
eerie and threatening
lenticular and low

i pray to whatever gods remain
swoop down, i beg them all
swoop down and take me
out of babylon
                        

she asks "so you're not going to church?"
and i insist i am

she looks me up and down, notes
the tee shirt, overshirt, slacks
	and blue tennis shoes
and without a word accuses me
of being deficient because
being dressed right matters more
than showing up

i cringe mentally, remembering when
i shared that attitude. thank God
i've gotten past it.

she asks again. same question.
same answer. she partially relents
and says "don't forget to take off 
your hat inside the chapel."

i felt i had just been mocked
for my past misunderstanding
of the reasons for joining
my fellow rag-tag saints