They Kneel In Unison, And Mountains 04/03/93

This faith that enters my house,
resting in the sun room by a hanging
spider plant, moving through the
living room and shapes of chairs
housing memories of guests and smells of
parties; this faith did not emanate
from some comet to propel itself up
these carpeted stairs and under my
bedroom door. The faith turned its
ticking seconds in gulps of water, gasps
of breath and thrusts of hips and
chews of grain and stares from eyes
that turned to comets for their hope.
An excellent foppery indeed. And all the
while I sleep while faith and its
physical groupies shake my wall. I no
longer leave my trophies out on shelves
for fear that faith will make them leap.