Bus Stop

We stared at the steeple, God stared back.

We knew it was a lie before dressing this moment.

You cried “there’s no god here,” no god here I repeated.

Just beautiful rolls of carpet,

deep painted windows and whispers, the whispers

changing our names, god given names, to a temple guess,

a temple joke, and no one laughed, no God for sure.

A stranger grasped my hand and pulled me through a curtain.

Your passing through heaven’s curtain,” He said softly.

The quiet in our new gateway to god antithetical

to a clamoring noise in our minds. I screamed “God is dead.”

Hushed silence disappeared as we left a fake temple.

Salt Lake City swallowed with relief as we boarded a bus

to leave, never to return. Funny I guess. We never returned

to each other. The world underwent a change for us.

God did not return. He grabbed a bus and headed to Vancouver.