To anticipate another earthquake like the one
that knocked the trumpet from the hand
of the angel atop the temple’s highest spire,
many workers walk in hardhats, wearing 
backpacks and trading early morning jokes
about the port-a-potty crowning the scaffolding
of their new holy place. They pour a foundation
sixteen feet deep and sixteen feet wide,
lay a network of pipes, ascend 250 feet
to break for lunch, and with the angel
listen to the music coming from the tabernacle,
many breaths lifted for the afternoon,
with the aid of a trumpet, their vision
combining to bring our world into being.