No wafers,
but hands outstretched
and the five-buck
refrain:
“yeah we got it”
“oh god bless”

And don’t you
smell that Holy
smoke drifting
down the stairs?

And hasn’t this table-clothed
altar presided
over meal after meal after
meal?

If these walls could talk
they’d be singing
psalms
about how much
they’ve seen

And someone said
they heard
those back-door birds
were preaching

Between the bells
and dishes
I lay down on this
worn couch to make
my confession:
I am tired (–
are you?)

Oh beloved home,
wood-creaking cathedral,

Bless this donated rice
and vitamin c,
bless this
coffeemaker,
bless your swinging doors,
bless
our hearts
(aren’t they all
in transition?)

Cast away
cockroaches,
casinos,
quick anger,
uncleaned
dishes

May we be welcomed as
the guests we all
are here

May we live each day
as a prayer