Defrocked for the wrong reasons, the newly fired priest
seeks refuge in the sea, only for the tides to donate bones
he’s sure are angels, at his feet. Then he walks to the edge
of the world but finds he never learned the art of balancing.
At last, of course, the theater, which he at first mistakes
for heaven, tired and delirious with something worse
than thirst. He climbs the stairs, then balcony, then catwalk
till he’s right next to the source of what enables everyone
below to see. And when he shouts for help, he’s shocked
that it’s the actors who have caught him, not the seats.
He sways, so gently, on the pyramid that they have made
together, as if their feet on one another’s shoulder blades
were sturdier than what he used to think was faith.