The dead carcass that recently washed ashore Has been curiously gawked at from afar, Repulsively hovered over and stick-poked By clutching lovers and beachcombers alike. Each successive high tide pushes it further, To ultimately rest in odoriferous decay On river washed and surf polished stones For the seagulls, crows and various insects To greedily pick at in ceremonial feast. While listening for the momentary silence Between your ever changing tides, I realized that this rotting monster Was the self I brought to your altar; And as the sun rises on this new day, The seagulls and I reluctantly depart In peace, from this your Cathedral, Expectantly awaiting the next High Mass.