You’ve heard it said,
without God there is no morality.
You’ll lose everything.
When your grandmother looks at you
she’ll see you burning forever in agony.
In the mirror
your face will seem foreign
as a burial mask.
You’ll lose
your means for repentance.
This will make it hard
to heal.
For a while, the birds will seem like ash
arranged in the shape of birds,
the eyes of your wife
like empty wells, as she pleads with you to be
what you were before.
Find it in yourself to feel forgiven.
You’ll turn in your key
on a Friday in the summer, go out on the land
to the old oak, sacred place of your youth,
pray into the black.
Wait in the darkness for an answer. Know at last
He’s never coming back.
