Missing Prayer for an Abandoned Sacred Place

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 
sacred place?