It has lights in it.
Shameless major lifts cascading into perfect authentic cadences
without so much as a dip into the diminished or minor mayhem
of the world outside.
It has bells in it
Plastic candles with off-switches perilously close to where one’s fingers grip the base
It has snow-white children in it, crowned with marigold hair
(and I imagine you)
And millions of Marys, the main characteristic of each being their sexual status
but when it’s in Latin, Swahili or Chinese
even the knifened people of the cold northwestern charcuteries can swallow it
without choking the exit doors, an uncracked nut of protest.
How can people protest
against what has love in it
and joy, joy, joy, an overflowing goblet of it
an ocean of sweet liquid joy to duck your head
disappear in it and hear
the music all the same.
it has ancient ports in it, beckoning green Renaissance tides
with each rise and fall of the organ’s breath
it has angels in it, not graphite rained-on scribbles but real
angels in it has
love in it
blue and white and stars all over the ground in it
resound in it
resplend in it
release your poor tense shoulders so deeply into it
you forget to hold fast to the railroad tracks
and you miss the bloody train.
has friends in it
has scrub jays in it
has dawns again in it
and for now, whatever the gods may think, there is
me in it
and you in it
Mush, major fifths!
And on we go.
Image credit: By Dchendyson – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9003448