tiny plastic cups of juice
in silver trays
small squares of bread
in beige baskets
these are passed
down
rows
words muttered
broken shed
as muted hymn
softly sung
gaze locks on wooden cross
standing silent solid solitary
weathered beams
breaking inner barrier
till I see unused cross
within
and begin singing were
you there sometimes
it causes me and then
we eat
pasty white bread
drink
sweet juice
plastic cups tap tapping into
little holder
holes in the pews
No comments:
Post a Comment