and then

It is not a falling -
no one is bruised
no gut-wrenching thrills

No one is falling -
it isn’t an accident,
and it's not a shame, not quite

Think of the Pleiades:
You stare into darkness for a long while, and
your eyes unfocus; while you brood, bored
It begins.
The first one is a startlement -
the next a joy, the third a story to tell but then
the rain of light begins in earnest
And this is no longer the world you knew

Thrilled to silence.
Awed, and distantly fearing -

Falling
In this case
Is far away and soundless
Is holding me motionless
Has stilled me
Will leave me intact
and, hopefully, wiser than I was
Before

my husband is jealous of this machine
the laptop confessional

In his mind the invisible audience of men
perhaps, or the time I spend awake after midnight
not wound in sheets, not blinking into darkness
while he breathes deeply beside me

the adultery of my attentions

he has threatened to destroy the object, using
I suppose that force all men resort to
when confounded
because I get bored so easily, in front of
the TV
and his definition of family time
is grouping

and my eyes are more easily focused
on the fine print, when I'm alone
and the room is dark
so now I wait

up all night, lit from beneath
sitting in a hard chair
my back to the bedroom

setting the table

one cup times 26 or 39
each holds perhaps three thimblesfull of wine
set like jewels around an empty space
a veiled cipher, cradled in its tray

the blood of Christ is shed for us
and caught in a plastic shotglass

in the uncooled sacristy, the summer vine
turns dank in stale neglect; no one declines
dispensed the night before, cheap by the case
still consubstantiates to save by grace

no drop is wasted; when it's done
you funnel it into the bottle, or drink it down

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