Somewhere Holy

for Erin, for others There are places in this world where you can stand somewhere holy and be thinking If it’s holy then why don’t I feel it, something, and while waiting, like it will any moment happen and maybe this is it, a man accosts you, half in his tongue, half in yours, he asks if maybe you are wanting to get high, all the time his damaged finger twitching idly like on purpose at a leash that holds an animal you can’t quite put your finger on at first, until you ask him, ask the man, and then he tells you it’s a weasel and, of course, it is, you’ve seen them, you remember now, you say Of course, a weasel. There are men inside the world who, never mind how much they tell you that they’re trying, can’t persuade you that it isn’t you, it’s life, it’s life in general where it hurts, a fear, of everything, of nothing, when if only they would name it maybe then you’d stay, you all the time aware it’s you that’s talking, so who’s going anywhere but here, beside them, otherwise why come, why keep on coming, when you can’t get to believing what they tell you any more than you believed the drugs the other man was offering wouldn’t harm you. Still, you think, you took them and you’re still alive, enough to take the hand, that wants, that promises to take you to where damage is a word, that’s all, like yes,so Yes you say,I’ll come, you tell him Show me.