Like grooves in the fabric of history itself

The hymns, greetings, & homilies shaped us, me

And left a void I could not name

Then, that first Sunday back

The joy & gift of sharing this time & space

Pointed to the benevolent beyond, forever named and unnamed

Hope of a love behind, shared by a family, chosen

I sat masked up, waxed up, alone

And wept tears of longing, reunion, homesickness and relief

The better part of two years apart

Breath, knees, smoke, disease

Those saints held me as something passed between us

Pronouns and prayer requests

Peace in thew empty air, familiar

Oh how I missed it all

The messiness

The incongruities

The egos

All made sacred

Or discovered to be already so

Church,

What a fucking gift