I welcomed you the way
I welcomed love—not a lover, there wasn’t
an agent, you were the change
I made, not the dollar
I broke to make it.
Riot of droplets, organized
by expulsion. What can’t be seen
clings to dust like a scholar
once said the soul did.
You’re not the only body
stays numinous all its life.
Cloud nevertheless
touching earth, you linger like a parishioner
asking for an extra confession
after the recessional.
They already shut the booth.
God hates special treatment.