What Temples Cannot Assure

An althorn in the commissary
under the barracks of bedroom toile de Jouy
like spiced tea for mother biscotti
where windpaper hymns of WWI
and condemned newspapers like divine characterization curves
like a dog off its tail and into the furnace
we have spoken eloquently of forests and talisman preachers
like diresand tornadoes demanding the tavern temple colonies

why did you come back to renew
all my heartache, there the family resurfacing
what that I might hear God under the standing
like a florid combustible song in its own myth
that crystalizes under the vagrant settled sand
there is morning in Her temples, today and during theses days of topsoil
I have drawn immaculate to the far standing
and I have seen with clarity and remorse