Dear Jesus

If I walk a shore
inadvertently step
into a stalking wave

will I
ascend as though
climbing a ladder to

Toronto in the rain
Queen Street stripped
for spring

the hooker outside Eaton Place
praying at the feet
of every dry parking garage


Each day a stone is moved
from the grave
of another coffee cup

the twisted keyhole
in another locked
and fortified door

and the body is gone
creating the void
of mystery


dear Jesus
I could climb waves all day
and still never qualify

for a gold VISA card