each night, a
select faithful
kneel aside beds
in mansions,
bunks, &
homeless shelters
to thank the
night sky for
the sunlight―

in the morning,
they rise for the
reprise & thank
a different sunlight
for the same
sky, without
feeling any
closer to
the light―

life’s thrusts
makes them
question whether
they’re thanking
the wrong sky &
blessing the
right sunlight
as the daily
darkness leads them
to the same
light of gray―

I have wrestled
over this.

(not for my own
lack of windows)
but the numbers
of requests for
blessings that
fall to the same
black holes
hidden in the
plain view
of so many skies―

asking that Faith
not let
the faithful
close their eyes;
stumble through
a reprise
then walk away.

Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyright © 2011

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