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Organ-bellows buzz
these Sundays
becomes instead
a coiled hum:
brass ring &
rings of ions
charged for here or there // through
rafterbeam peaks of
molded
steeple
stuccoed
cloud / white
(jaggy Maya teeth of
crooked tombstones) pray
yerself a song: to act it
acting you—
believe the world
for you
to abdicate
these Sundays
in old ways
but new:
By gravel roads they come
in trucks & family sedans
to a town with three churches— |