Sunday Window

"Are you born again?"
I am born
Each morning in sunrise
In wet hung grasses
In webs bright with dewdrops.
"We are gathered this Sabbath"- nasal voice
Sweat beads on his forehead, he smiles
A palisade of teeth, and he squints at us
Happy. To be here, voice booming
Echoing into our inertia, strident.
"To worship the Most High-
Let's shout it and sing it.
Amen! Can I get an amen?"
There are echoes and echoes. 

"When we sing it, when we shout it together
Brothers and sisters
We chase that old devil-"
But they are chasing me, my ears are retreating
They chase my eyes to the window.
Joyous in purity, the grey light of winter. 
Below are highway and billboards and cars
All shouting; my eyes lift
I will lift mine eyes to where
Tree branches against the clouds are stark and lovely; the streets
Cannot mar the unbroken purity of the sky.
"Cry to the Holy Ghost!" and I cry
To all that is holy
Swaying tree limbs, scudding clouds.
"Get down on your knees and repent!" I cannot
The window is lovely
I am on my knees in a wood and the altar
Is fernbank and birdsong, my heart
Too bright for repentance. Leaves 
Lie dappled in sunlight.
The silence is worship.

"Softly and tenderly" braying their loud invitation
"Come weep away the sin" I stand
Grim-jawed and quiet, both eyes in the hymnal,
Still seeing the window.