Rewrite of an old piece.  I resurrected this last week at the Ship, and it went over well, so it’s gone through some tweaks.

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I want you
the way an aged priest
falls to his knees without understanding
to praise his God, not thinking of the ramifications
of his years of blind faith.  The choir sings
pure and clear, his evening service goes off
as planned, and he lies down at night certain
of the blessings, never imagining  that such things
come with contradictions and illogic
subsumed to the drive to
fit everything
into a single frame of grace. 

That’s the way
I want you: uncomplicated
by the difficulties.

I want you
the way a cathedral breathes when no one’s around.
The gargoyles and saints wish themselves pliable
and stroll the aisles speaking in low voices of everything they’ve seen.
In the morning they settle back onto pedestals knowing so much more
of the lives that move through here —

and again, that’s the way I want you:
with unexpected sources of hidden knowledge
at my back, whispering truth
and calming me
as I approach.

I want you
with a prayer and a sacrifice. 

I want you
the way salvation wraps itself around a leg
and holds tight even as the suicide climbs toward the rail.

I want you the way a sword burns on watch before Paradise.

Somewhere under the closed mouth of the sea
lie the bones of unbelievers. 

I want you the way
the ocean closed over them
as they stared up at the overwhelming evidence
of something greater than they were.

I could write a gospel or more tonight.
Scriptures have been written for less.

I want you the way a hermit pores over the texts
searching for a new name for God,
something to conjure with:

give me one word,
one syllable to pray with,
and we will remake Creation tonight.