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Passing Thru

I saw an old friend

I said how've you been?

He chose the awkward path

and actually told me:

He said I'm suffering man,

I've really been in it as of late,

I need spirituality in my life

But all the churches are closed.

So he walked outside

To commune with nature

But it was too cold,

And so that night

he read a book

Of religious riddles

And mythic prose

And wisdom poems

Then one on exploration

Thru Appalachia

To map the misted mountains

And draw the constellations,

With nothing but a loaf of bread

And a pound of tea

And a notebook to catch it all.

He skimmed the words

But got the gist,

and fell asleep

In morning clothes.

I said what’s next? Off to confession?

He laughed, meekly,

Then we shook hands

And passed each other

On the stair.

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