His studdering Islam
wrapped in a thick Turkish tongue
Is being set like 5 fragile teacups
Near our unwashed feet
His calculated Buddhism
tumbles quantitatively into four tined poetry
placed between breaths
on it's paper thin heel
His mahogany Catholicism
folded as a seven necked swan
sits wingless, its feet buried deep
in scabless wounds
His lidless Protestanism
rolls slowly from a side-chewed cheek
and falls like a paring knife
grazing both palms
His untranslated Judaism
hops one-footed about the room
Until he lays down, a spoon,
Too deep to fully taste
And I am still uncomfortable
waiting among this china and cutlery
for the first taste of meat or wine.
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