You place the rosary
under your pillow
and fall asleep,
a prayer on your tongue
half-whispered to Holy Mary
for safe passage
through the night.
While your body stays at rest,
you enter the park.
A stone gazebo
overlooks the lake.
Geese have returned
mingling with dock leaves
and scattered mist.
You know how it feels
to stretch faith
and deep breathe to abide
the long-necked shadows.
They slide underwater
and haunt the soul dragging
along ruins of bone, an aged
woman sunken
to the bottom of survival
as she lingers.
Her children are coming soon
with oil lamps burning
the scent of conscience,
raw myrrh for guilt
rosemary for love.
So clutch your beads
and sleep soundly.
This dream holds true.
