Blasphemer

spin beads to lake tide

hail mary, full of grace

lips press words to fragments of moonlight

scattered through waves

spun by wind

our father, who art in heaven

my tracks

car tracks

their tracks into water

hail mary, full of grace

pebbles press to flesh

dimpling ripples

she forgot to know

our father, who art in heaven

martyrdom at its finest

apologetics of faith

hail mary, full of grace

driftwood collection

tops freed feathers so they don’t fly

grounded and pressed to earth

glory be to the father

his father

her father

our father, who art in heaven

I am the father

blasphemer

 

Originally written April 2014, Lake Pueblo, Colorado. 

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