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by Herb Kauderer

At night the priest
puts on second-hand sneakers
and walks to the east.
It never occurs
to him to take the bus.

He walks a long half-hour
filled with dust,
saving parish money,
while sating his longing.

Later, he comes to the launch site,
hoping he’ll see
the brilliant lights
launched from earth, join constellations
in the clear, black night.

The sight leaves him stunned.
He feels old, tired, gray,
drained of tension.

Each time he prays
he’ll find his own way
into the heavens someday.

Then he walks home, subdued,
sneakers wet with morning’s dew.

Copyright © 2017 by Herb Kauderer

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