I turned my back for good on religion
after 9-11,
no loving god would put innocents in positions
of such torment,
forcing them to choose
between the flames or the terrifying fall.

Sunday mornings,
I hear the church bells from across town,
and I envy those
who brunch after sermon,
bellies and souls filled,
purpose-driven
for the remainder of the day.

As for my salvation,
no one should have trepidation:

there’s a hyacinth patch that speaks to me
revealing truths through its geometries, 
the determined paths of honey bees,

and sometimes, that voice belongs
to the peonies.