Home Alone

I wake up 

to a quiet, 

unpeopled house

float down our long hall

toward the kitchen

my pajamas flutter

like an angel’s robe.

I reach out into the emptiness
sense something there

as if walking in the isle 

of a cathedral dense
with apparitions.

The boys went camping.

I don't miss them.

Instead I long for coffee.

I pour the dark powder

into the white filter 

as reverantly as
a priest preparing
Communion.

Then I lean against 

my white tile altar,

sipping, beholding,

following my bare feet 

into the garden. 

I hear myself humming. 

I hear myself praising the Lord.

I hear myself praying

there is a Lord 
to receive my praise, 

offered 
with so much yearning.