It comes to me
upon rising,
an old song,
full and sweet
and galloping:

“I’ll meet you at Alamo Mission,
and we can say our prayers;
And the Holy Ghost
And the Virgin Mother
Will hear us
While we’re waiting there…“

and maybe I’ve got the words right or
maybe I’ve got the words wrong,
but in a minute or so
they’ll be gone

(just like these words)

and I will move on
with the ghosts
at Alamo Mission
where all of us
are so busy with nothing,
wiping their hands
on each others’ shrouds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T