Night Worship

The porch is my sanctuary.
The inky darkness, holy.
My cigarette breathes incense

into this hallowed open chamber,
its peace only broken occasionally
by cars on their way to work.

Spiders perch in the rafters,
spinning silent prayers.
Crickets sing against

a backdrop of starlight.
June bugs flit and hit the walls,
fat guardian cherubs,

sacrificing themselves.
I am surrounded by sacred objects.
The translucent line of water bottles.

The broken aquarium.
My broken self.
I inhale, my empty soul sucking at filling.

Stub out my cigarette in the ashtray,
tithing for my dreams to come true
for another day.