I am here
With Sunday staring at me
Everyday is Sunday
Everyday I sit at the altar
Saying who am I supposed to be

I am here
In light, and shadow
Dripping in song (laughter)
in minor key

I say Your name
I’m but a bird
winged
soaring through shapeless

And why is this poem about me?
You’re in me, my eyes in you?
Can I not see?
are these eyes meant for latent wings?