Momentarily Sane (a poem)

My lover chisels away rough edges
Around the center of my heart
But sharpness still remains

I cannot contain darkness sometimes
Lying on concrete in the cold dawn
There’s a man standing above me
I reach for the rosary he carries

He offers salvation in a kind way
Not like the charismatic preachers
I used to know in traveling days
He tells me, softly, that Jesus
Turns his back on no one, including
Pimps and hustlers with their
Scarred faces and crooked teeth

I’m dressed in dirty clothes, the sun caresses
The horizon, golden gleaming pushing
Bright light on us; the religious man’s
Breath smells of tobacco and whiskey

But there’s something about him I see
I look past his lazy eye, the roughness of his
Large hands, and I see goodness inside
Despite meeting him in this wicked place

Maybe he’s just like me, adrift on the astral plane,
Momentarily sane amidst tugging and strain
Of a heavy heart, soaked, ragged from
A life fighting against inner conflicts

(Photo by Anna Hecker on Unsplash)

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