The Chapel of the Holy Dove

Holy Dove

Literally speaking,

I left only dusty footprints

at the Chapel of the Holy Dove,

on the roadside, middle of nowhere,

Arizona.

 

On a meta level;

metaphysically,

metaphorically,

there is a fragment of my spirit

caught in the old wood,

in the lovers’ names

and prayers, engraved with keys

and pocket knives.

 

A part of my spirit slipped

under the gap in the door.

 

Should you spy a shadow,

it could be me,

(although it could be many)

standing at the altar,

worshipping the light

falling through the vast windows;

thickets of pine.

The ministry of snow-scattered mountains.

 

~~ June Briar Kelsey

 

 

 

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