as if their passion is a shroud against the sun they

gather en-masse for the communion, feasting on

the body and the blood of the other, those who are

denied entry, who know the meaning of fire.
the fields of the parish are aflame, the sky is dark

with thunder, in despair they smoulder in the pews

eating bibles to survive, burning coins into their eyes

refusing to open the door for the new.
we stand in fields of soot watching as churches

burst ablaze, kindling our sacred fires with a discretion

of faith, we are nibbling on the biddings of others,

guiding our offspring across thorns.
from the darkness of night the sky is lightning

the focus is on the present day, and tomorrow

the churches are still burning and some of us

are trapped inside.