It’s his last time in the church,
having had sullied his faith
in a scandal as big as the lectern
standing erect at that end of the nave.
This is the last time he will kneel,
the last time he will pray,
the last time he will put it all
in another’s hands.
He spends awhile saying his goodbye,
and rises to his feet
with the squeak of shoe leather,
he pivots militarily and
descends from the heights of the apse
to the depths of the exit,
where he will turn once again,
and cross himself one last time,
before descending fully,
and then he will just live,
without worship or prayer,
never to set foot or knee
in that church,
or any other,
until the end of his days.