Progress

In the Cathedral of the wild
It was fine to be naked
To have leaves dapple
Our brazen skin
As we lay together in bliss
observing the shifts of the blue
Bird ridden vault

In the temple of the city
We hide ourselves
Shrouded in shame
We covet worthless trinkets
And lie
restless under soft white sheets
watching reels of horror on bright screens

Still the church of change
marches on
with crosses made from fallen trees
held aloft in hot winds
that carry the ashes of prayers
for earth’s failing heart