Give me this moment
to absolve myself of my sins.
A lapsed catholic confession over broken wood.
Speak and be heard, my Son.
This dry throat.
Grab at what is bothering you, my Son.
Kneel before me (my faith,)
we involved the involved presence.
My voice, pressed against the wire screen.
Kneel, my Son, before the voice of God.
We light candles here,
converse before the face of god.
Separate voice from meaning,
this list of sins given in haste.
Yes, my Son.
I understand, my Son.
We are all God’s children, my Son.
The sins based in faith,
falling at your feet, unwashed,
walking barefoot on the street.
We must become aware of God’s plan, my Son.
This is where we have fallen,
underneath the stoplight,
here on this walk.
Faith will return like that of the rising sun, my Son.
These are the phases of the moon,
under which we spoke.
Keep the faith, my Son.
That is why his blood was spilled, my Son.
The tears fell three days later
and consciousness becomes a readying storm.
Yes, my Son, the rainbows as God’s promise.
Only now does the storm break and winter is upon us.
My Son, do not become tempted by the darkness.
The cloudy vision has lifted,
my actions defined by the setting of the snow.
God Bless you my Son, say 3 Hail Mary’s . . .
and a prayer for god.