Escape Artists

To the chubby one, all of eleven, a vegetable grater
with a bottle opener on top and a ‘squarish’ sieve make themselves seen

I see a virile god-organ, a slender cross, steps to an altar
and sunlight dappling on wooden benches in a parish hall–
details that only the atheist in me can relish

Between his love and my irreligion are doorways
that lead beyond. Slim rectangles large enough
for a generation to squeeze through unquestioned

Beyond is where he and I will live. Once the black
outlines absorbed into sight become a blind spot ripe,
we will escape through the indifferent gaps and find
a shapeless sky and sea, ours to trap in squares,
dead redwood frames and awning stripes