What happened, Holy Spirit?

We had a deal – confession

every week, fat candles lit,

a faith unaltered from first

sacrament. What was prescribed

to hoop our house with grace.

One twitch it took to tumble all that

down: chance crossings in a parking lot,

an ugly gun, the flash, a smack like

cleavers hitting beef; and each last thread of

home was gone. Show me, dear Spirit,

what prayer will weave him back again

or ravel the safe quiet of our glide

or vest again with light these dry

novenas that I mutter

to an empty night.