The brown wagon that took the
children to the jubilee leans wheel-
less against the old chapel walls.
Weeds striving for the light
arise from the black moldy
nave from narthex to transept.
The hymnals in the rotting pews
grieve a living and active voice,
the echoes of services preached.
There is a sheet over the pulpit,
a shattered virgin in the apse,
a choir of dust in the chancel.
The basilica is broken
from Adam’s finger
to God’s distant touch.
Tablets, urns, saints
fallen and pulverized
lie the frescoed walls.
The Holy Doors
are shut and barred.
The Apple tree turns away.
Who will pray
for this abandoned
Missing Prayer for an Abandoned Sacred Place