The twist in my side
Like an unwelcome touch
Marks a mortality
Felt with sincerity
The cardinal chortles a ma** that I
Am not prepared for
Starlings quiver and chitter in their pews
This church of God spins beneath
My congregation of
Birds, trees and bugs
My generation in motion pa**es the old and the new
Looking back and looking forward
Still this church of God spins, still
I would be a puddle gathering the rain
I would be as earth and gather bones
I cannot cease
I am not cooed by mourning doves
This procession shall pa**
And all will follow