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.