The Holy Ghost is freely
pinned as sin is from the Devil
amongst the broken back pews of a somnambulant congregation
dreaming of the post church pot luck buffet.
Release it to the wild,
it flies to heaven,
anointing a stained-glass angel peeled
from the wall as second.
The angel says,
”You must wrestle me,”
I dream of catching the uncatchable,
holding that one untouchable thing.
The angel breaks its shoulder to
of my material hunger
to devour the wrong blood, flesh— to the bone
It ascends unsatisfied
as an altared Christ
cursing the church to contain his blessings in a stone idol and
those who all pray open-eyed.
Wrestling With a Stained-Glass Angel
One response to “Wrestling With a Stained-Glass Angel”
What a good poem! I have it fitted in my minds eye foreverLoading…