Church Coffee   I am a mug personally glazed with blue skies green tinged-clouds and the word “fly” They come around to fill me with steaming drink but their aim is off splashing consistently onto the handle only a drop or two lands in the cup and then out of the kitchen into the sanctuary this coffee is poured truly but no one sips the brew another day, another kitchen but no coffee here cider, my brew though poured truly, mixes strangely with the grounds that came before

Will I forsake the lonesome path
I've beaten all these many years?
How can I? -- How can I not?
Will I lay eye again on what was dear to me?
recover what along the way was lost?
Dear God...

When this path turns to two
Which will I know to take? How will I know
the one that leads me home?
the one that leads me back to you?

There's just no telling. Roll the dice --
Pull a straw -- Close your eyes, take a spin,
and point. There's just no telling, is there?