cathedral w/o

without windows. without a gun.
without stained glass. without a god.
without a father singing in the choir. without
a shovel to dig the bones out with. without
confession & without anything to confess.
without a place to go afterwards. without stone.
i take a knife. peel off the rind. 
all that's left is ringing. i list all the places i used
to have to lay face up like an offering.
i sleep easiest on the tongue of a giant.
turn over like the tilling of the soil in april.
soy beans are coming. corn lives under
our nails ready to burst & scream. 
a fresh kind of worship. eternal. like meeting
yourself at the end of a long night.
your fingers falling off like petals. nothing
lasts long enough. not the sun 
but especially not the teeth. each turning
into a bird & flying up to the rafters. 
every ghost has one place only they can go.
the sheets hung up like a blanket fort. like hide & go
speak. i find a valley of veils. it is a communion
or a wedding. it is night & no one knows 
where i am. the coyotes dance.
eat ruby meat. sleep inside each other.
nesting dolls. worship without walls. fell
just enough trees for a fire. each resulting shadow
running off to build fountains. without butter.
without a pair of shoes. without anyone else at all.
without a door. without a scythe. without 
a word for salvation, paired down.
knife in hand. nothing left but "save."