You were interested
In the architecture
Of language—

 
The ornate ceiling
As much as the dusty floor.
You carefully built

 
The chapel
Of each poem.
You stood back,

 
Your emotions
Echoing from wall to wall,
As you waited

 
And waited
For the offerings of your God,
The unexpected words,

 
Which would disturb
The crossed air
Like sudden black birds.

Peter Thabit Jones © 2022


Published in GARDEN OF CLOUDS/NEW AND SELECTED POEMS by Peter Thabit Jones, 2020