Archive
05/02/10
Churchgoers
What a cool, sunny-blue nine o'clock Lord's May morning this is, To be walking the sidewalks of the Moorlands, in Clayton, Missouri, Watched over by foraging robins and squirrels — A sanctuary partaking of silence conducive to sleeping-in souls, A church in which my meditations might worship in peace.
For a blessed lost-in-thoughts hour, I listen to my solitary footfalls Keeping pace with my reflective spirit, As I hike up Byron's steep elevation, down Parkdale, up Buckingham, Down Oxford, up Wellington, down York, up Cromwell, Over Glen Ridge, past Byron, to Wydown, then Hanley —
A wistful stitching of adolescence's history, Which the kid I was sewed into my long-ago youth's street wisdom. Nearing my apartment, I converge on parishioners Emerging from Central Presbyterian Church, And blend into the serenity I sense aglow, in their eyes.
05/02/10
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