I dreamt of you.
I walked into a church I’d never been to before.
And you were there.
And you were beauty as Beauty meant it:
no swagger, no shame.
And this was one weird church:
at least three stories of worshipers
some playing electric guitars
some drinking at a bar
some dining on gourmet fare
some just talking …
I tried not to stare.
I tried not to be afraid
and then you knelt to wash my feet
and you smiled supernatural
and though you didn’t say a word
I knew you were asking me to keep your secret.
How could you have been there
a million miles from where you spin and spit?
What could I do but smile back?
That’s what I do when I don’t understand something.
And as I left, you stood in the door,
so peaceful, so content,
and you raised your finger to your lips
so I beg you back, poet.
Dare to worship in the sun’s stare. Dare to seek
the waking truth. And I will see you there.