know what I know that
sunlight never
falls in neat lines even when
it does
after the calamity of
storms when becoming
a series of endpoints reaching
down the mountain
the mountain that
knows what I
know that discomfort is a
concept evolved
by hope
in a church whose corners
have been planed
smooth
the church that knows
what I know
how perfection sells itself
on unlikely corners
everywhere and
nowhere on any map
we might scribble while reeling from bad
wine
