Imagine the eggshell ghosts
among the narrow statues
in a line taut as a sacristy cat—
all the unknowns.
All watch as a saint in a stained glass window
caught in the nameless sunrise is illuminated there.
Strange, isn’t it? How feline his features!
He looks to be tormenting rats
he has trapped in a box. A parable, yes?
Music is playing, an unknown requiem,
for the unnamed saint—
but something has made
the choir scream with laughter.
You will find no more metaphors here,
my friend, not among these rafters.
Every ghost is known by someone still alive.
When the cat and the saint prowl through the pews,
the church above is like the hereafter.
All grace is silent and unknown;
that’s the news,
that’s the laughter.