Temple

The shelter is a temple more sacred than a vacant city hall. Come as you are says the tent maker who hosts vagrant varietals. All over the city they pop up for a toast with the third person. Full immersion into the unfamiliar waters gains a dripping wet language for sons and daughters now exempt from the penalty of homelessness. Vent your faults to the Lord who is exalted and lofty in the highest place. Out of his league. Echo eternity in our walled emptiness. Boast in the anointed Son who looks upon the lowly and sees them from afar. They too were booked for lovingkindness.

Do you mind? Close the books. Open the living Word. Dwell among us. Dwell upon it with second looks. Ample rest for those in the world who are fatigued. Search engines stop heaving steam when the conductors encounter the living spring without cost. Focus on one as the warfare of classes wages on through neighborhood disruptions. The shot is not abroad, but here. It’s clear. Make meaning out of the lines: ones and threes. Citizen Same sits sideways in Army fatigues and a blue burka blanket concealing his or her identity like cryptic music producers. What was invisible is now visible. Have a ball.