The Atlantic Coastline

The Atlantic coastline
is alive with fire
diamonds like raindrops
crescendo into morning dew.

Asherim poles, like alters
smoke into the sky
offering a condensed sacrifice
for glory, for beauty,
for groves in now still timber.
I have fabricated tunnels
I have dug groves
like asphalt, in the plumage
mighty and climbing
for the favorite saint
the sojourned
the ring of crippling fire
that perpetuates
for fire, for oil that sings
where paralysis does not disdain the ugly fire
but glows with hot ashes and writes down
His name
in the asphalt
in journeys
in mornings predisposed
towards glory.