church should be thunderous:
the heavy-footed march of organ chords,
shaking the timber of a sanctuary—
the guttural tenor of sustained lament
pulsing in the frames of storied stained glass—
the somber chapters of our love of God.
and then, away from those baroque bows
and the cloth that softly muffles discord
to hospital beds, and school rooms, and buses
where new chapters shall loudly be written.