Another

My disbelief continues to grow,
a farmhourse,
it has a swing.
I have two rings,
I make them into 6 or seven and
give them to anyone
who’s ever knelt at St. Francis’s altar.

I suspend all students who have ever
forgotten their books on the way to class,
left them in a locker too long,
mold on the edges of the page,

the smell of gasoline
in their core