Faith in Broken Jars
Faith and childhood kept
with the broken Ball jar
of blue glass like I haven’t seen
before, among the sunspot sea
of buttons your grandmother collected.
Lace like eyelashes or
wisps of nostril smoke cover
tears and guitar picks
as we woke up in streetlamp
sunlight and train thunder.
Scared breaths and praying in
bar stool confessionals. For
forgive me bartender for
hit me again with pain as
harmonica chords and
train thunder. Midnight.
