immortal

in the light of
church windows he
wraps his hand
in a grey cloth
like a mummy forgetting
his home address
and sleeping in
pews instead of
a sarcophagus

eyes dry and lips
bending into a familiar
bible reading
i write the verses
on my knees
so i can find them
again
when i need them

his skin breaks
and water rushes
pushing rocks like
beetles to the ground
and then he tumbles

and i wonder who
his heaven is.