What, where is the poetry

it is 4:20, on 4-20-2020,

my wife walks in right after I enter an early evening
re-read to make it seem

poetically planned to hatmonize perfectly

she says, if we can get to El Cajon by 4:20,

I think perfect,
she wants me to do the impossible, again

but then I remember spring ahead that we voted
to stop doing but they did,

I must not have, sprung ahead, for a poetic moment up there,

if we can get to El Cajon by 4:20,

they can **** our dog. Oh...

and a whole long story began, which is why

after all is said and done, 4-20-2020 is a global holiday.

my sister sent me a smarting

pic of livestream Greek Orthodoxy--

three hundred something were watching

the resurrection.

the masked altar boy to the left rapt in

ritual, leaning down to retrieve revelation.

the priest at the head whose turned back broadened

the unaswerable, sung thru unsmelled incense.

backed iconically by Byzantine saints saying their peace.

brandishing the goldest silences you

never did hear.