Sunday Morning

He calls for the offering.
He does not know that I have it
hidden in my pocket.
It is not for him;
it is for you.

The service continues as I walk past.
He is convinced that the penitent sinner
will be forgiven.
I am not so sure and walk away
out of earshot.

I take a young tendril from the tip
of the grapevine and chew…
Your pale phlox are dancing
all around me.