El Santuario

© Dainis Derics | Dreamstime Stock Photos
 
Warm amber rises to gently frame
Desert twins protecting God,
Whose ringing voices stir and wake
Burrito barristas who nod,
 
At the flashy tourists come
To avoid the grave.
Stand in line, plastic bag in hand
 
Scoop sweet attempts to save 
Yourself – find gifted grace –
Find pebbles in the clay,
In fact, no water necessary
To wash your sins away.
 
Replenished on the whim of God
Or secret priestly chore –
Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Found just below the floor.
 
Miracles don’t fall with ripened fruit
Or spring from weeping skies –
They’re found much lower, in the dirt,
Where worldly dreams must die.
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