357/365: Fall On Your Knees

mary in a church

I stood in that church,
candles each held burning
over hymnals,
hot wax running into plastic cups,
and I wavered, waiting,
knowing it would come,
and nearly left with its arriving,
that swell with four parts rising,
chests full bellows swelling,
fall on your knees,
and I was lost there, inevitably,
caught and surrendered,
because the rapturous loss of cynicism,
that wide-sprung ribcage,
has swept through me, too,
sweeps without judgement through even the godless,
and its mirror,
that insinuated echo of its fever
rose within the notes
that carried the words of our fall,
and my throat closed tight,
weary world rejoices
quieted by salt water.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com