Sunday Morning

Homeric hymns to summer morning
to the cumulonimbus above the mountain
where the dream haunter
calls us back
the staple prayer
of a Sunday morning
ave Dea
gratia plena
mysterium tecum
exploding into genius
true offering
with the opening chords of
Hey Jude
and suddenly
the sign spinner on the corner
is a Sufi poet
whirling into union with God
a hymn to the hills
to the humid sensual stink of the groves
the heady scented memory
of my lust-torn youth

and wasn't this always the way?
stolen snatches
in the middle of everything
not yawning for hours in church
paying lip service to the divine
but the flashing
immediate
suddenly festive moment
when the truth peels open to reveal
the sublime fruit
of spirit

M.L. Elison, 2008