The Cross Was Wood

At three o'clock the sanctuary clock continues. A truck reverses outside.

Hosanna fills the road, bright leaves against the dust, children learning joy

God of the unfinished answer, meet us before dawn changes anything. Meet the ones whose grief

One candle remains. Then even that small flame is carried from the room.

There's a word for the way your coffee cup still sits on the second shelf where no one else would put it—

I woke before you and did nothing about it. The radiator ticked. Your shoulder rose and fell.