Agnostic

I’m thinking of
shirts that are
too clean
to be washed
and
too dirty
to be worn again.

I’m thinking of
hiking alone,
bringing all your shirts of ambiguous smells
with you,
drenching them in sweat,
one by one.

I’m thinking of
people who meditate
when they reach the
mountaintop
and those who stay behind
at the lake
at the base
and howl.

I’m thinking of
kids
who cry
and cringe
at the feel
of their own sweat,
but feel too guilty to use up the hot water
to wash their (droplet-of) sweat stained clothing.

I’m thinking of
uphill
rock-climbing,
how some people mumble prayers,
one per each mile traversed.

I’m thinking of
people who have
no one
whom to ask for safety,
people who have
no one
to blame when they slip
on stone and
fall.

I’m thinking of the view there
where
the air is thinner.

And,
I’m thinking of
people who have
no one to thank for it.

Not a wisp of belief that
there is a god in the sky
not having to look very far down
to see you in these heights.

No hope whatsoever that
your loved ones breaths linger
in the soil atop their grave,
warming your feet when you visit,
evaporating the rain and your tears
into steam.

And suddenly, I don’t particularly feel
like saying thank you anymore.

But I still can’t shake
the feeling
that someone
is listening.

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