Elaine Elizabeth Belz
AND THE LIVING TO THE DEAD

The votive wick
receives my flame,
icon's gaze
my desperate eye.

Prayer book absorbs
my fingerprints,
the solid bench
my hip's ache.
Cobalt glass, tarnished brass,
dark wood's soiled patina
usher me in; stolid air thick
with dust and smoke and resin

and with voices,
rustling pages, shuffling feet,
creaking floorboard and pew,

all music
to uncloak my solitude.
I bring no words;
the words are given:
prayer-book patterns,
labyrinthine cadences that know
the one path in
and out;

I have no faith
that isn't handed me
by stone and pew and window,
book and candle,
plate and cup:

"Take,
and eat."
I'm given God
to interpose between my clenched teeth.

(8 November 2010)