Dawn sets fire to temple roof’s angled eaves.
This Lutheran church across my street seems
to reflect again sun’s rising, believes
its own legend: how carpenter redeems
all mankind. White oak leaves nodding consent,
slick skins glowing in response to flame’s rise.
Slight summer wind, even now, breathes assent
with hints of passion. And so you rise, eyes
of blue fire igniting my mind to words
divining you here. Again you inspire
through your spirit’s rising, absent voice heard
in simmering breeze, angel’s soft whisper
praising my essence as only you, whim
of heaven, can turn men to sacred hymns.
Roger Armbrust
June 17, 2010
