Walking with the Reverend

His voice trembles as he speaks of God.
He seeks Him everywhere, and finds Him in
fallen girls and dead boys and bones in the road
and graphic image warnings on his TV.
A million thorns crowning a million brows
He grieves and grieves and grieves and lives with it.

I am walking next to him.
It is an
Icy
Sunday morning, and he has just finished a sermon
on forgiveness.
"Tell me more," I say,
and I see him
see me.

See me falling, see me want to, and he reaches out
Half-heartedly, his hands barely open
Fingers folded over kingdom come
He trembles as he speaks of God.

When he is finished, I see him see me
See me shake my head, turn away, fall
and he grieves and grieves and grieves,
and lives with it.