This poem was found in the magazine “Spirituality and Health.”
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Mark 15:34
Some stupid pistol picked off the street lights
on rattlesnake road as I stumble over shards
walking to your palace. Nothing’s the same.
When I come to your well, I have no thirst.
The edge of your word no longer cuts;
that altar bread like cardboard.
I, bone-cold, need more love
than I deserve. I seek your fire
because I know you share your hearth
with lost children, lost sheep.
You send out cinder cookies, freshly
baked, while I wait outside your gate.