The religious among us know that the planet is a slow-draining tub with tiny black mildew-
stained holes in the sealing
caulk
They know that stagnant water
cannot stand,
its seepage drains through until gravity takes hold and shapes
its course correction all the way down to the bottom of the floorboards
Opening in idiosyncratic waves
through daylight hours in advance of sycophantic displays
escaping
scrutiny, they call it for what it is
They recognize that master
carpentry and architectural drafting are among the noblest
professions, yet are defined
within their bountiful constraints
The religious among us sense a
third dimension in translucent casting and enlightened stanzas,
viewing
them as transcendent while sensing their nascent decline and disturbance
Possessing a belief not in what
can be possessed,
but
in the riches of the transitory and the fulfillment of transference
They forge ahead in stoic grace,
making good on internal resolve to procure modeled states of
being, while improving the
deterioration and desecration happening around them,
warming grave hearts in fellowship along thin air space between
laughter and tears
MM 3/17
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