Quite a row of them sitting there
                                                Quite a row of them sitting there 

Evangelical Sundays. Church hats, 
the feathered grace of women,

their men in undertaker suits, 
hardened into dutiful Sundays.

It scarcely rained, the sun 
abominable. Taxis shuttled them

to Kingdom Halls, the wooden 
heaven, like my grandmother.

The light in the Word. Every day 
the light on the Word lengthens

and I write into the earth, 
my forked-tongue peninsula,