Lydia Golitz

Leaving the Church

I am looking for a home
in the desert of my faith.
Saints in white napkins
have flown behind the mirror,
warbling in the facial tissue
of clouds.
The offertory box is upside down
and I am shaking it.
God, you were
the biggest horse on this carousel!
God, your eyes were
the size of the biggest wad of chewing gum
I’ve ever blown!
I have never loved something
so much that it wears away:
I cull the leaves
of the never-never plant.
I grasp the water
of the weeping font.
I watch the sun touch itself
in the roseate pool.
And I take my hands,
heavy with mood rings, and me too,
I touch my face of dead light.