POEM: The Poetry That Is A Church (Version 2)

Let loose a prayer for anything and like incense it rises, a returning soul
Longing for the union that hides in the mud of us all.
Let us hold fast each other’s hands and account each one for the other.
Hold the sacramental deep like the air in our lungs,
Or the steely resolve of a wedding vow
Or the soft goodbye over a coffin -

Like a lighthouse, the Living Christ calls out in a lovely lonely baritone - “home, home”
Into the black fog that faith can sometimes be. A contract is scratched
Onto our fleshy hearts, by the beat and rhyme of the poetry that is a church.
This world so sparkles when viewed through her stained glass trust, so blue -
Or when lit by mystic fires, the red of blood, of what embraces and what is true