Thursday, September 28, 2023


Each morning, so 
compelled, I 
strictly attend 

and genuflect 
in the First 
Church of No Sound. 

And each morning, 
while I'm deep in the well
of reflection, 

a large bowl for 
collections invariably 
comes around.

And I watch, as if 
from a lonely vista, high 
above the ground,

as, one tidy 
mound of ever-
smiling silver at a time, 

my own private 
stash of greedy thought
is tossed-off, 

too reluctant—yet
too piously—into 
that trough. 

But somehow, despite that 
drive to count and 
hoard up all that's mine,

each time I manage
the circumspect trick 
of giving a little bit more 

than I thought 
I could spare just 
one morning before.