Are You With Me? | poem

I ask, as I pass through the door,
Staring at stained glass.
I’ve always thought of church as Heaven
On Earth.
You’re not there; you’re everywhere,

How does it feel to be holy?

How am I here, stuck in rain on a Sunday,
While you swim in stormclouds?
You’re shrouded in rainbows I can’t even see.

Are you still with me?

I look for you in mirrors,
Through wet windows,
In bathroom stalls,
In hallways and hills and rooftops.
I probably won’t stop until we’re both
Sitting in some random field on a Sunday,
Laughing at the halos we don’t have.


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