Today, no song, God, repentance
ringing as words flute up through rafters.
What remains: a bird feeder heavy
with seed, like a soon-to-be
mother swaying. And finches,
cardinals, away from heaven,
as black seeds slide down their throats.
this world without faith,
without rising out of oneself
into the dream of shared need.
It’s because I’m done kneeling
that I walk beneath the sky’s blue
vein as the pulse of my own