We’re walking to midnight mass; I fall behind.
I’m chasing her, or rather, the love she gives.
My boots crunch half-melted snow, now ice.
She is whispering in her daughter’s ear.
I have no faith in god, or any other grand plan.
I’m here chasing her, or rather, the love she gives.
Her daughter giggles and hugs her mother’s middle.
The faith of a child grown-ups trifle with, and ruin.
The mother, the woman I love, looks back, and smiles.
I smile back, but lag on behind, tempted to turn away.
I have no faith in god, or the priests, or prayer, any of it.
I’m too old to put on a mask, just for company, affection.
They enter the church, stately and proud against starry sky.
I turn away, don’t call after them, don’t follow, just go back.
The stars are so clear in the bitter sky, the moon close to touch.
Perhaps I’ll sleep, and forget for awhile, all I so desperately want.