House cat stares
She knows I have the uncanny ability to
Find cans of cat food, open them,
Manipulate spoon to distribute contents
Into circular bowl placed on floor by
Water bowl
She’s right
I am singularly gifted in this craft
So it is she walks across my chest
Curls on pillow by wall, purring
Admiration for what I have
accomplished in my otherwise
useless life, me, an erstwhile disciple
Of Benedict Joseph Labre, he homeless
Beset with mental illness, vagabond piety
An afterthought of belonging infused with
Solitude and reclusive isolation
Churchless monstrance of real presence
Contemplation, the circular nature of silence
She closes her eyes, breathes shallow sawing
Near rosary. It is Sunday. Sunshine and leaf sway
Everything has become a new silence
As I look out into the day, I am merely here
Belonging nowhere, devoid of skill, unlearned
Unattachable, impertinent, an unspecial fool
Unaligned, misinformed, a nameless passing
Sound the meaning of which is dismissive wave
Enough of that
It is always time for nap
That holy invitation into dimensions
Not yet catalogued, no clear cartography
To reference what or wherefore the pilgrimage
