Holes

before i returned that last time

a late summer storm had blown

through the valley leaving the streets

washed the gardens watered

billowing iron gray clouds

scattered across the sky

through which sliced

wild slanting rays

of stilted late daylight

who knew i would

travel this far to sit

on the uncomfortable wood

of the front row pew

in the cloistered silence

of the deconsecrated church

at the center of the town

either i imagined or

thought i remembered

the curtains on the windows

of the adjoining rectory

were left open now that

the priests were gone

the hole in my sweatshirt

let my metabolic heat leak

into an empty space

let the chill seep in

of what remained of

damp holy air

but there was nothing

else left to feel

or be angry about

the candlelight

i had hoped

to experience again

had been put out