Book of Life

Colored light dapples empty
Pews, wood worn to splinters by children
Scraping the shiny surface with fingernails, edges
Of books of prayer, who really was praying, we asked
Laughing, peering at each other behind skirts, over hats, rolling marbles on the floor.

Adam and Eve looked down frowning
At us, apple still uneaten and glowing full
Of innocence, afternoon light, and there was Moses still
Adrift in the reeds, face half hidden in the dark basket, though
I secretly knew he looked like me, I had a dream that he opened an eye and it was mine.

The window in the back was new, they put it there
When Moses at the mountain was struck by a baseball
Flying from the dark outside, now there were only shapeless sharp
Slices of green, deep blue, deeper black, and there was no story watching us
When we whispered about the pieces of our own stories, glass bright and thin as air.