"Her religion" | 5

Our story was barely a story   was it a list?
she'd run through the street saying   tree!   window!   leaf!
embarassed at times   I'd hide in a cloud of mist
then she'd draw me close   & dowse me   in her belief

her religion   wasn't a faith you'll find in churches
though she knows & loves the scripture   & the sermon
but she also adores the bars & cars   she lurches
in cafes   & plays at crooning in French & German

in every language   she catches her own sweet words
in every mirror   she glimpses her own deep eyes
her laugh can encompass   both ocean-whelm   & birds
when clouds grow bleary with rain   you can hear how she cries

you could say   her religion's eccentric   for she lingers
on the obverse side of theology   with the singers