No White Sail, No Sun

Supper time, you’re off—where?
a boat in the Bay?
truant again, last class
before winter break
afternoon grey
as the rail yard shortcut
to another side of town

To learn about God
from a minister
who signs for the deaf
and who leaves the office
by dark, story waiting
in his hands of a storm
flinging waves into the boat
where Jesus sleeps

But you’re not in a boat
you lie on track grass
thrown out of the world
by a freight train
you didn’t hear

In your backpack
a photo of the minister
who ends up
signing your funeral
his hands waving
into the unbelieving air
trying to wake Jesus.

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