Take the globe by her imagined
corners & stretch her flat
like evening against the sky
Blow your trumpets angels
to stir our souls
& stir bodies that have died

Call Bethlehem’s innocents & those
drowned in seas those
ploughed under in battle
by a drum beat those
trapped in the tower those
first responders those shaken
by marauders those taken
by disease those burned
at the stake those spectacle
watchers who lasted little
longer & every girl
time turned from a fragrant
flower into one whose bent brittle
stem bowed her to the grave

Gather each decomposedhusk for
no matter how scattered each must
recompose as our souls must
respond to all we’re given
& grip beyond our grasp
this new call to worship

Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash