Sky Treasure

For his sake, she remembers an old remedy

For garden pillagers: pie tins strung out in intervals

Across the lawn. As daylight tunnels through itself

As visibly as a tongue curling at the communion rail

On a Sunday held for safekeeping, she hears

The song of so many hungers,

As hers, as his. She is waiting for the difference

But can't find the boundary line between.