the basin is dry again. the stones lie at the bottom bereft of holy water. the cathedral, though nearly empty, is loud. someone laughs raucously in the hall behind the high altar. i feel resentful. i resent.

all day i have been slow to move and heavy. the pain like a skewer driven through my skull at either side of the median. the hopeful three days of cure a hoax. the botox a failure. my eyes are dry and tired and i doze in the face of to-do lists, sleep before stacks of laundry. the euphoria of yesterday’s lenten anticipation is gone.

now i am only
hollow

a rattling knuckle
loose inside my skull
a dog’s bone
a chewed on joint
rolling and clanking
with any subtle movement
loosed