Between the crucifix and the fire escape
The confession box lies in a mirage.
“Forgive me, Father for I have sinned.”
The clock ticks.
The man who hides his face rasps,
“From a heart or a hand?” the priest asks,
His cigarette tilts up in a grin.
His yellow hand reaches out
And crumbles to sand.
The clock stops,
And it’s midnight once more.