st. patrick's cathedral

you fall the day after
no one sees

statues line up in front of the columns, st. francis, the virgin mary, christ
many unrecognized

there is nothing I’ve figured out. how to set my head down in someone’s lap, late night cabs, how to make you understand that you are going to wonder about me more than you think, how the arches are made of uneven stones that are waiting to come down, fluttering postcards, the refusal that gathers like faith in strangers or the way you fall, the way people go down like a hole suddenly opening up in front of them, age in your mother’s voice, your mother, who would fit in just fine here with the lit white candles, the instant church smell, the giant stained glass.

if leaving then leave, if fell then crashing down broadsheet, a discotecque, a note on the door like swords, like 1851 gold-rushed into 1856, your neck dedicated in 1872, mouth felled in 1906, leaned straight step of connemara marble. a lucky stone.