Jeff Clark

 

Three A.M. was a mass
My pew a tawny
and shopworn sofabed
          set up with animals and felt chalice
his a red chair by a phonograph


Home after a last set
          ruddy, not alive, beautiful clothes

                                                                      Slurred canticles

Blow-matins
          Blow-lauds
                    One-ended antiphons
                                                  Lines for an inward and
moonsick psalter.

We loved to walk then after a Host
or ride, was it a Cadillac?

          Ferries for certain