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My spiritual life is orange you going to smile
it’s fun to say ‘orange you’ meaning aren’t you.
I arrived at Houghton
surprised at the coarse evangelical swearing of vows 
I told a lie as soon as they asked 
‘I promise not to to smoke cigarettes’
I forget if else obligated my troth. 
January February and March in western New York
after evening study
a walk along the river in boots 
hat gloves and an orange in the pocket of my coat
colder than I’d ever been
authentic spiritual self 
peaceful without questions and
no oaths of alliance
snow-deep on the moonlit trail
hiking up the hill
a tree limb cracks
orange wedges sticky hands 
light a cigarette
and back in bed
no forgiveness of others to ask
no desire to hear them pledge.