This shambling
half-awake
naked, pale
sickly
world
needs faith.
Not faith because of grace,
but rather
the thick, unadulterated
whole-milk faith
that moves mountains
and makes men walk on water.
Can I be the giver?
Or will my humanity
get in the way?
I ask myself this
every night
before I go to bed
trying just to slip into
blessed unconciousness.