THE HIGHEST WINDOW
It is a high-life in droves, this
clerestory glass. I watch the
sunlight drain in, breaking
colors and spreading rays. My
spirit soars, and is induced by
the rank odor of love and praise.
If there is this God, he is surely
busy now. A right turn at the
human oven, a tinker-bit with
this or that : make an ape that
sings, bring a doily cloth to
the heart of a monster.
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