— a cathedral by night
each slat a testament to light.
Shit and brick
the holiest of holies
a tabernacle underfoot.

Tobacco will hang from these beams
like confessions
when autumn rides in
with its smoke and barrels.

What a glorious smell, hail mary.
What a plaintive green
folded in prayer in the field.

Karamu
Spring 2001, Vol. XVII, No. 2