![rustic stone chapel on a river](https://streetlightmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/9995066593_e31cdb9b72_k-1024x533.jpg)
The pulpit floats high above
the chairs. She cranes
her neck to see, twists
a little clockwise
to hear. The priest’s
suspended there
for his flock. Which soil
to avoid? Which rock?
The Bible’s chained
to the lectern, each page
a work of art.
Needles of heat.
Through the window
a cloudless sky the blue
of Mary’s cloak,
a furnace of crows
relentless as her fears
of hell, of dying
alone, that her prayers
court a God
who needs no one.
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