John 3:5

                                                                                You turn back, look,                                                                                 and see those piles of ash,                                                                                 then wonder how your footsteps                                                                                 avoided all that mess.                                                                                  You waited long enough to turn, and not be fried.                                                                                 You wonder: what power kept you balanced                                                                                 on it's side, alive, and let you abrogate                                                                                 its own decree? It loves you as a son,                                                                                 whose real Son paid your penalty.                                                                                  In this Evening Land the moon is hidden,                                                                                 the stars begin to hide. You shine your weapon,                                                                                 trying to capture the last light, turning your hilt.                                                                                 One century, a little more, past horseback,                                                                                 past candlelight and torch, the same weapon,                                                                                 same carriage, assigns, accoutrements,                                                                                 the Dragon, same. Turn the hollow words                                                                                 inside out: you possess them like your love,                                                                                 cherish them the same, in memory.                                                                                 What ignites you? The long shadow of the Church,                                                                                 with all the weight it carries, fed by irony                                                                                 and history, its bony fingers, relatives,                                                                                 and saints, a dark hooded thing behind you.                                                                                  You are Luther, Calvin, vital and spoken to.                                                                                  It could not sustain its carcass form, or you.                                                                                 Are you ready? It is your time to leave.                                                                                 When the water splashes into metaphor,                                                                                 You will wawl, then feel the Spirit breathe.