“So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go, first be reconciled to your brother or sister…” – St. Matthew’s Gospel
* * * * *
There they sit, back to back
shoulders slumped in denial
of the frozen but not dead.
A light-year stalemate
mocks the freshness
of stolen stares
and words, a little too free.
Mouths, sealed from the inside
like jail-cell bars and chicken wire
remain closed to avoid
rusty words unfit
for newly rustling souls.
Sing the familiar songs
but not too loudly
lest the wind drown out
the blurry shape
of growing melodies.
Coax the buds of festive fare
bloated and waiting,
waiting to return
green for their grey.
Straw horses and gravel roads
offer their backs to lost
and awkward travel companions,
now, once again, stepping lightly
on sure stones.