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.