Their grey
faces may whisper—as if
they're so sure
words—like
unclean
or
absurd!
when they chance
to glace
through dark and weathered
indigo glass
during service
to vaguely—see you out here
so careless;
glinting wet
with raw bits
of early spring
sun puddles streaking your wiry back
and just so
unnervingly non-
specifically—nosing around
the terrible lawn
that surrounds this little austere
grid of such old and
good pissing rocks
for the grubbiest snacks,
the most pungent
of plots,
and just—digging! so fiercely
away in the bulk
of the mulch
that they're all scared
pretty stiff of.
But don't be deterred!
and never
let up! your search
little
charitable friend;
for you alone apprehend
so lightly!
without that heavy
pall of understanding
that after you leave
the tolls
of the loud dark iron behind,
out here—
its all so faint-
ly cordial,
so crudely
available
for simple consecration!
that it's clearly
just another—and a rather
much more
humane
and—catholic kind!
of church.