Church

How saintly is this soil?
That I see reaching off to the horizon.
That blue sky above must be nothing but god.
A shared beauty. That cobalt collection of atmosphere and faith.
The yoke of this galaxy rises in the distance.
What precious gold this is.
Which direction is Mecca?
The wind rushes through these bones, the breath of god.
Each twitch of a nerve ending crumbles in a crucifixion.
Causing me to speak.
For my eyes to blink and this vermilion wine inside to flow.
The church was built for us. Hewn from the mountains in the sky.
Yet I rarely pray here, as much as I should.
Thankfulness is a hymn I should sing more often.
Yet this house of god stands firm each day.
Waking to the walls and the salty tears of rain that fall inside sometimes.
When the world grows dark, when the candles go out.
Yet its foundations are stronger than Jerusalem.
I fall and touch this ground and feel at home.
Spun around and whispered to by many devils.
But they cannot ever touch me here.
In my church.
On this earth.

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Aureole

Changes take you to the place.
The feelings, dressed in faith.
Little voices whispering your name in silent spaces.
You take me there.
Gripping my hand which shakes and flutters.
A heart, in flight like birds of paradise scratching the sky.
The only thing that fades is the darkness of the past.
The bright light I see in your eyes illuminates and deafens.
An unknown, which used to creep like ghosts, now welcomes like a field of poppies.
Oh that heady take on life, blurring into our bones.
You come to rest on marbled floors.
An altar in which I can pray.
But you lift my hands and shake your head.
Kissing me with our new commandant.
The only religion is love.
You fall into my skin, changing the air I breathe.
Needing me, as I need you.
Worked from our souls rising.
A Perfect circle.