In the Thicket

The cab of my truck
Becomes the Holy Place.
I park in a dark lot
My face awash
In the soft glow
Of dashboard lights.
It is a lantern glow
Against the stone
Of my face
Against the altar
Of my heart.

There is no Gregorian chant
Hallowing this small space.
Nothing but the hush
Of my exhalations
What sacred texts call
Ruach
The breath
The wind
Of God.

I bind the sacrifice
For the slaughter
The flow of blood
For sprinkling
Upon the
Mercy Seat.

I am both offering
And priest.

My head against
The wheel
Like the animal
Against the altar
I release my thoughts
Give away the content
Held captive
In secret places
Hoping it acceptable.

Vespers concluded
I ignite the power
Beneath my blood red hood
And drive away
In benediction
Marveling that the truck I drive
Like Abraham’s sacrifice
Should be what was caught
By its horns
In the thicket.
A
Ram.