The pull away of all that bounty
leaves a hole
it seems.

I am scared,
uncelebrated,
my flesh unpatted,
assurance gone,
party over,
everyone done,
just me alone.

I am left to fill a vessel
still, and spooky.
Sleep has taken over
and I am left to wander
unseen, it seems
in town, when stores are closed.

Dreams separated by glass or ice
paint promise some other day.
And I reach backward
for my faith won by memory
that these are the days
that bloom in time
but for now are mine.

Clear airs of ownership possess this child
as it wanders corridors, now his.
This dormancy,
this wealth of vacancy
this fallow time
is mine, don’t you see?

I am free to move about the house of us
and plan our brilliance,
court our hope,
believe in these moments,
know our kind creator,
stumbling original
all the way.

It tickles Him to see me this way.
– Bobby McAlpine,Catechisms

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