Okay                twenty years ago          I was driving through New York state             on the Fourth of July               looking for a party I never found                         there was this highway shrine               so I pulled over            why      half guilt half curiosity             the flock of devotees               and back then I had time         more time than I have now             so I could stop and stare          at the little grotto with candle racks     holy cards                    statue of the teenage mother               hands clasped eyes lifted to heaven      forgive me       people were laying photos of their dead at her feet      and I thought of you                you weren’t dead just living in the city                    I opened my wallet      and wedged a photo of you between two candles        not a recent photo      you were twelve in your dance recital costume                all long hair and spandex and sequins  and what was I thinking of     not the beam in my eye                        back then I drank till the room went black               but I worried   over you                      you had a job where men’s fantasies of pain came true            and somehow we believed                   we were still free      that our choices hadn’t swallowed us  I said a Hail Mary for you       when I should have said one for us      for humility      for Our Lady of Yes and Never No             to help             to stand between us and the dark winds           that had battered us both