There are none of
The markers
Of my church

No burning candles
Or chalice
Or Stations of the Cross

While some who
Join me in prayer
Do so differently than I

We are all bonded
By the aim
Of our supplication

And the need
For a Holy Place
To voice our pleas

Atop the alter
Is a vase
With twelve yellow carnations

Perfect, beautiful
As if posing
For Monet

With hat in hand
I stare at those flowers
And begin with 12 Hail Mary’s

I then finish
With my
Made up prayer

A beggar beseeching
A measure
Of Hope

‘Dear Lord
Please keep
The Matt Doyle
Hope Train
Steaming down
The track
Please bring
My precious son
All the way
Back to me
With his
Beautiful mind
Intact’