“Really,” you spit a jeer
“You, who haven’t entered a vestibule in years
except to kneel before an ancient statue
or view a centuries-old relic”

Yes, but If I were to erect a church
I should build it into a song

“Explain,” you say smirking a grin

It would not be written on a staff
with sharps and flats
symphonic style, nor a concerto
It would be an improvisation
maybe a hint of jazz, a touch of spiritual

“Sacrilegious,” you add with insult

I hear lone voice hum a slow minor melody
another modulates, yodels a bright major
a trio harmonizes a conversation invites
a whole chorus of sounds to echo inside
a deep forest smelling of sweet pine incense
no maestro conducts from gilded pulpit

“You’ve tangled my thoughts”

Voices multiply, begin to offer sonic liturgy
to every part of woodland concert hall
birds even start to tweet, squirrels stop their nut collecting


And few hikers jarred from their rumination
listen, ponder this wordless song
wonder what this eerie construct could mean