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,



On a meta level;



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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