Black on Black

I kneel, old knees reverence the day— 
sunlit, crisped Spring air yet with a bite 
soil unlike that on my sole 
yet soul-worthy and oiled 
on the altar, a ready reminder 
dust tamed to penitence waits for me.

No need to flip pages, words branded 
to bones scroll like urgent news type 
across a marquee of closed eyes. 
Create in me a clean heart, oh Lord 
restore a right spirit within me.

Blackened speckles drift down from the mark 
I dare not disturb. They disturb me. 
In my naked awareness I wear this dirt— 
moldered filthiness. I fight the urge 
to swipe clean the ashes

but for the calm of rhythmic unison. 
We pray, Lord hear our prayer 
and now not two pews behind me 
intrusive utterance of another flawed mortal 
beats the cadence by a nanosecond 
line by line. Unrepentant, I gauge the blackness 
her dust to mine.