Communion of Saints

The incense rises as the rain falls:

Augustine pulls his hood

Over his dreads

And lights a cigarette

Home in the inner

City of Man

He watches God’s tears fall

They stir the faces of the puddles

He remembers the faces of the youth

Gargoyled by stray bullets

Now they’re mug shots in the ground

staring down divinity

He remembers Job crying from the ash heap

And Job’s friends, less comforting than social workers

He gently touches the light of his cigarette

To the tip of a cigarette in the gargoyle puddle

And heaves his head back up

As the sky rages open