by Pavel Chichikov
Our Lord was in the chapel cleaning
Swung His mop in curving lines
As once He wrote archaic dust
So now He soaps a long design
God inside the tabernacle
Descends to clean the chapel floor
The Lord a menial refugee -
No one sees the door ajar
“How beautiful this world and that
One of lapis, one of jade
And there between a gallery
Of curving spacetime I have made”
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
