this hide, with this bench
and window ledge
where you kneel,
to rest your elbows
and cup your hands
to the twilight,
serves as a communion rail
in the cathedral of lagoon and sea.
the setting sun is choir master
to the fluttering of a thousand wings.
a flamingo in priest’s robes
blesses the wine-water
and the bread mulch in the reeds.
I ingest in silence
the bird’s cry and the sea roar
and taste the salt marsh on my tongue.