It’s been a decade since I’ve last heard the mystery of faith.

How I knew the kindness of true religion, words of wisdom

passed down from a man that knew God as a father, a friend,

whose voice was stronger still even when cancer tried to cut it short.

Father, Padre, forgive me of my sins, for which you may see,

and if there were ever angels, you graced the earth as one of them,

your wings the parish, all-encompassing. The definition of compassionate,

you loved us all. There is nothing I wouldn’t give

for one more slow Sunday, suspended by your liturgy,

but bless me now with something holier, an old memory,

haunted with the ghost of incense, and the words

to lift my soul to believe once more.

To Father Larry, a man of Spirit