First

Where were we wearing the odd collar,
 weary for the tie, tied but disheveled
 and untried, knees shaking as sweat rolled
 from a wet brow, we bowed, our backs bowed:
 strung so tightly when we stood we shot
 like an arrow, catching ourselves with one foot
 on the altar, the other quivering on carpet
 while the wafer winnowed away in water (not air)
 our deserted and dusty, dry mouths divining
 but a few drops to melt the body of our Lord?

 It was the first, of many at the time, as we
 fervently followed the footsteps before us
 in the long Communion lines that shortened
 in the years, fading as faith fallowed
 in the forlorn rows of empty pews, prayer
 but a light conversation in the bright rays
 of the morning sun mourning forgotten vows
 and the "Our Fathers" or "Hail Maries" recited
 in contrition for sins we no longer believed
to "our" God of concise and convenient salvation.