I stood in the rain inside the cathedral so tall
clouds gathered between the arches.
My doctor, thin as Jesus,
flew overhead on buzzard wings.
I could not reach him.
A blue washed pond of sky in the chancel and storks for pillars.
The music was like a slow spreading oil mosaic on street water.
A snap turtle fell off his log in the narthex.
After the homily of musk rats
I walked home along the boulevard of steel trees
inhaling the dust motes of saints.