i post the poem I should have worked on longer.
The church bells peal in big mimicry of birds
filling the gaps in the hour with clangor.
The sound recalls to me
a past dense with faith, in every hour brilliant
as particles of light,
as plainly filling a room
so huge it swoops in a lucid arch to God.
How firmly the grand endeavors of man
once stood on the broad earth beseeching God,
whose love could fill the static breadth of space.
Now our clangor signifies nothing at all
no vast ire held against us but our own,
a crowd of children ravening for a drying teat,
rending the unwilling womb with our hands.
The orotund guards of the past are calling out
sheathed in a thin spire against the sun.
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