We take communion with tiny
lakes and baptize with stars.
In this back country temple
we stand sprouts among
saplings, the trailhead like
the Word in our fingertips.
We kneel in soft meadow
seats, listen to the mountains
echo sermons of truth and
glacier before God’s people.
We breathe in faith like the
cool scent of vanilla flowers
on our skin. Gathered in the
heart of Christ, our faces
pressed against something
soft, we sleep in His gentle
palm, pillowed by the crescent
petals of a rose.
