When I remember, I remember 
flowing robes of
preacher and choir
the amphitheater of God amplified 
rocking bodies
sternum to stem and sweaty raised limbs
congregants rapt in their reveries
a grocery list of sins
checking off each with a promise
that this time it’s going to be
the doors of the church will
swing into the wide waiting world to
swallow their intentions
whole while
amens lift up from the heads of the
fervent faithful
a chorus of synchronous lightning bugs
electric, alive
humming like drone bees.
Seats move, stomachs growl,
systems idle in preparation
for an organ’s benediction.
This is as restless a business
as it ever was.
But, crawling ‘neath church pews—a domino run
of pantyhose, heels, and skirt hems,
trouser socks, dress slacks, and polished leather loafers—
is frowned upon.