Travis Cebula
Catalyst for Confirmation #2
Eucharist
Catalyst for Confirmation #3
Catalyst for First Communion #2
Catalyst for Marriage #1
Travis Cebula
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alone with his          questions,
and aren’t we—
all—
aren’t we meant?
to question distance
he queried the sky
whether it had always been
deeper at its center—
how far away
the indigo—
looks—
on faces,
in waves, and smaller,
the distance               between—
being a young
man and being        an old man
dwindles into
minutiae—
a distance
walked—
a meal
not eaten.
a grey beard
full of scrambled
eggs—
I blink more than
I used to.
I see less of—
the shrinkage               of his right—
his eye and the growth of
hunger trade stories
over a distance from
hunger.          a thirst overcomes—
is this myself?
am I?
within this                sack of skin—
still. unmoving.
he asks and asks—
when was I young?
then—
five unlit cigars and five fingers—
a hand.
was that                     faith?
then—
can I write this               down?
then—
this coming
down—
this if—
this descent—
to ash finally and to breath binds itself breath respiration as by an unanswered question is survival |
him and happily then in the sun a river that plummets black like and starry the cloudless sky same the sky same the width of a church and happily forget reinforced to forget to forget flowers of concrete and glass grey to the same life himself committed unwillingly he that she was so beautiful beauty in that he believed for the faithless and everlasting for eternally to proclaim faithfulness for the other fires and flame waits with its rude screen and stony curtains to lick velvet grey hangs in the air for a moment— smoke— the slippers of burnt sandalwood— until with stale incense until with smoke it fills a tin plate this or anesthesia a more lasting pew from which to build something not wood, but flame and if given something to burn— |
an inhalation— this breath, then. we aspire to we. and why must be why. |
to embrace the strange flow of faces in a lunch hour— eyes, brows, glasses, mouths— therefore the City makes a decision that one will be different from before then. be different from same. autumn light testifies to the crisp brim of a fedora, chestnut felt and boiled wool wrapped with black satin. to honor and obey— strip off your less necessary clothes. find a tryst somewhere metal and away from the sun. lean in close with your hand behind my ear. pronounce your name. City. the others kiss, or other and if formed for rather, she’d rather beauty inform uniformity like birdprints in wet concrete. | [lips] [opening] [to] [form] [rings] |
Travis Cebula