glory 

the prideful sun 
out 
i am sitting on a melbourne tram as it glides through 
the easy curtains of early spring 
reading again 
parting the path across the yarra 
a sale in the south 
goodwill and peace bundled in  
a garage—while 
writing
in worship  
          sometimes always 
          rarely never / 
what is religion? 
          prayers
          memories
          of growing up 
when my father sat me down 
said 
“my god is love”
So i think—
           believe,
          if you insist, 
that religion for me 
is holding hands on swanston street 
and loving each other 
in all the ways that matter