I abandoned the fellowship
mid-prayer to swing in the snow.
Amidst the worship, the flock noticed
nobody missing from the fold.
I belonged to Kathryn, not Jesus.
She enveloped the whole playground:
her white snow juxtaposed against my brown skin,
her evening breeze cooling my sweat, kissing my neck,
her whisper heard between their plays,
her sapphire stars watching me from above, lighting the way
where no streetlights or city fog came.
I feared no man, no bear. Raccoons
scavenged through dumpsters eating leftovers.
I ate the manna falling from the night.
Every soul asleep in bed but mine
as I swung on rusted chains into the sky
contemplating whether angels really died
or if they just flew to places beyond
my grasp to kingdoms I would never see
though I would try despite my meager reach.
I had no wings, but I could fly
closer to her on the icy metal swing.
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