they come to me
at the threshold
thick red doors
and when bulletins
vanish they
still come to hold
my empty handshake
like the tall man
my favorite patient
who asked me
to meet his friends
who were not there
who asked me not
to crowd them
because they could get testy
when the ward doctors
switched his meds
he snapped his steel door
hijacked an ambulance
slammed into a church
and sprinted to the pulpit
screaming for salvation
the organ tuned
to his guttural yell
stained glass shaking
under its sonic weight
each time congregants come
to me in the narthex
they bring shadows
hands outstretched
red doors open
more approach
with shards of light