Lent

We, the starving volunteers; the ones who go without. The

shoeless, hair-shirts, bonded, veiled; seekers of the

drought now stand before your floral gate to rend these

rags and shout your name. In your name. We came to whine,

remind you that it's time for endless vigil. On stone

cold floors, on ashes or on white hot nails. Slow motion

tip-toe and vicious gales that flex then flail then punch

from all directions. In your name. Our crosses rotting in

the rain, we hang before you in your name.We bear the

bitter mark of Cain.