In This Place

Can I be with you?
Just a little while,
here in this place.
I’ve taken off my shoes,
dimmed the lights
and lit the candles.
I’ve placed myself
before your image,
made the sign of the cross
(right to left is right, right?
how important is the order?)
but I don’t have incense
and maybe that’s what’s missing.
It makes my head hurt
if it’s too strong.

It makes my heart hurt
when you’ve been gone.
The wax runs,
the flame wanes,
and I’ve got to go.
Could you meet me on the bus instead?

Joshua D. Nightingale