And just like that
the priest begins to rise,
not out of his seat,
but off the ground – actually
levitates, hands filled
with communion hosts, he tosses
these like tiny frisbees, targeting
the mouth of each parishioner,
one by one, left then right, rotating
wildly like an ascending Elvis in purple robe,
I scamper to hide behind an ornate column
that bolsters the apse, awaiting the end of the blasphemy

Chagall 2019