(Wendy Cabell, composed sometime near before Pope Francis' passing, date chosen is just a guess)
Remnants
I find the tile shards on the sand. Artifacts really, a prehistoric air. Swirls and spirals. Silent. They wait just near the card table at which I’d spoken with Pope Francis. In this dream, he makes an impromptu visit to Venice Beach. I remember breakfasts of younger days, I’d scan for dolphins at dawn. Now, I confess the fusses I’m having with Joseph. Our mounds of clutter. Debts and dust. The Pope, he waves this off.
Shards like stars -– Sweep of
Spirit. Each pass of paintbrush,
pen, dry bones they rise
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