bisecting earth and sky
do not cross here.
An oval aisle,
eight corridors wide
where
the thin apostles tread
with no beginning save the abstract
and no end to save you
but stop
when you think
you have had
enough.
In my church,
you place it all
on the line
in between
singing
holy holy holymotherofgod
with every
footstrike
the glory
is yours
within
and
above
the angels thunderous
silence
be magnificent
in my church
be free
and fly
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