In the Booth

I came back to the church,

knelt in the booth where I used to kneel,

remembered the darkness and the search

for something that could heal.

The lattice screen is still the same,

shadow lines across my face,

the smell of incense and old shame

compressed into this wooden place.

I stare at the empty priest's side,

trying to think of something small,

something my sins could confide,

something the darkness could solve at all.

But there's nothing small enough,

nothing that fits the form,

nothing that the screen and the dark stuff

could possibly transform.

I kneel there in the wooden dark,

unable to say a thing,

unable to find the spark

that used to make the darkness sing.

So I stand up and leave the booth,

leave the church, leave it all behind,

leave the lattice and the proof

that darkness doesn't help me find

what I'm looking for anymore,

what I thought forgiveness could be,

what I used to come here for,

what used to set me free.

The lattice is just wood,

the darkness is just dark,

the booth is just a place I stood

and tried to leave a mark.