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