It was all becoming real.

Do you believe

in God? Not the first

time I was asked that question

Not the second either;


“Do you believe in God?” Who wants

to know? (it never seems to be me)

I’m in the church.


I woke up early, brushed my teeth, took

a shower, threw the clothes I slept in in-

to a laundry hamper, and I am here

barely able to hold a breviary

in my velcro-braced hand

(a fall I took on a sheet of ice

below scraggly grass days ago)


Do I believe in God? Well, when I began to

burn in the right hand, the shoulder, the ribs,

the mysterious spot on the lung, all the flammables

(Abba Joseph rose up, stretched out his hands, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire. Why not become fire?)

after too much typing,

it was all becoming real.

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