It was kind of dead here
in that last gasp of darkness before dawn is made apparent
but came a man likened to a church mouse
to unlock the door, to walk across the floor
and flip the switches that woke up the building
once he attired the pile of bricks with appropriate light
he drew upon his vestments
thickly white and starched to hide his tail
and stood at the head of the staircase
to watch the reawakening.
And that’s how we found him
at the top of a steep staircase
urging us on to the glory of a world steeped in faith
below we conspire
to burn the incense and light the candles this time in a way better then perfect
using smoke and light to breathe fire into the belly
staining the bricks brown with the soot of our sins
before we leave them in the basement
with our other inconvenient prejudices.
But when we crack open the recycled manuals
there are stories to be sung into life
at this church of resurrection.