9:55 am Sunday
(May 2005)

I approach the pulpit
like a single twenty-something
climbs up on yet another barstool.
I pull out my best homiletical tricks,
different ones each week: sincerity, warmth,
intelligence, humor, charm,
authenticity always (hopefully).

For the next twenty minutes
I flirt shamelessly.

I’m growing impatient for the day
when the thing can just be consummated,
and the six days between
can be the breath
in a long, satisfying, sustained
conversation between
lovers.