Baptism

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 Baptism


In these parts the power goes out

with out warning often enough, 


we’re no longer alarmed. The kids and I

just look at each other, shrug, and shove off 


to our collective imagination isles. Me?

My notebook. Them? Everything else.


Today though called for something sweet

something to ease the hankering anticipation


of something godly. Brown buttresses

over green frocked Episcopalian priests


Permission to say Jesus Christ

and mean it. We sit beside the salted water


Throw rocks against rocks, see if we

have what it takes to break them.


Faith and hope and Emily Dickinson 

 later, someone was baptized, but it wasn’t us. 

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