The Gathering

In familiar circumstances,
Where good things have happened before,
Your body feels comfortable,
Fine to be here, open to more.

The exact location differs
For each individual and,
In many ways, from its past self.
No sameness is ever the same,

But the way your memory works,
Whatever once held elements
Of productive comfort for you—
The chair, the stove, the neighborhood,

The particular tree, the bench,
The window, the side of the road
Where almost no one but you goes—
Whatever served your private cues,

If you can gather together
With them, that’s your church. It could be
Your literal house of worship,
But if it works, you’ll know it works.

There, memory’s intersection
Of the good with the going on—
Is there a gift greater in life,
For the living body being

A living body amid things?
Not kenosis, not emptying,
Even when emptying’s the point.
Your body goes on, gathering.