Nothing Came to Mind

Nothing Came to Mind

(“My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.” Matthew 26:38)

Who are we in the darkened garden when
the greens are black and gray? Do we know the way
to the secret place, here well outside of the day?

Where are we when the sun has gone down and
the last hymn sung? Do we remember
the tunes in dusky doldrums when unknown footsteps
break the spell?

I could have been someone,
but so could have anyone.

Wouldn’t you rather find a place atop a hill
to peer past all the dust kicked up by power plays
and statements sealed with “scout’s honor”? We both
know it is true,
that half a promise is no promise at all.

How can the weight be so heavy when gravity is so weak,
how can tears flow when, for all we know, we had it all
figured out?

I would be baptized again if it would change anything,
but something tells me more ritual is not required.

How can our eyes be so heavy? The wine? The meal?
The daily grind that brought us here? The sudden quiet of
a garden; olive and loam? If there is a silent power that
moves the universe, we should have rehearsed our part,
we should have stayed awake, we should have lasted longer
into the third verse.

I should have said something,
but nothing came to mind.