the ring

have you heard the one about soap on the cathedral steps? of a body’s rise to burgeoning dusk? i still wear the ring, to say nothing of Marangoni or his fingers. or maybe you’ve heard the one about that selfsame substance? of mothers and communion? if only the old man had anticipated a counter offer i would have quietly unbestowed a few things, the ring not least among them. even yet it lacks its old impression.