this rusty relic
when it has finally good and washed away
on the waves of its children leaving
its last hope of resurrection spent on
an overhead projector and a damned outside consultant
with a damned good vision plan …
we will remember the big churchy words
wrapped around the marching orders.
we will remember the days when we loved being right
more than we loved loving.
this crumbling ark of a thing
that we’ve half-worshipped and over-mortgaged
no blaming that sad divine for the
wreck of our own creation.
after the fire, the storm, the wandering.
after the flood,
the astounding rainbow of a promise
a love so vast and colorful that
we could never possibly keep up our end of the bargain.