Sixteen hundred years ago
a man shot full of arrows
for his faith. Today
I occupy the gap
between what was then
and what is now
missing you. Like the centuries
since martyrdom
time rolls away
heedless of my heart’s desire;
pierced with arrows
for believing you
love petrifies
becomes a cross
the lonely venerate
scattering flowers and bon bons at my feet
hoping to score
or (at the least)
not to spend this night alone.

© Copyright Brendan E Byrne 2021. All rights reserved.