cathedral

there is a horn and a sanctus bell
and an orange and an oak tree
down by the river

oh brothers, let's go down
and shed our sandals like leaves

mud and murk in our toes
vines' branches winding skyward
in warm breath of sunlight

we will whisper prayers and poetry
and discover a dove nest with fledglings

Mesopotamia

cutting up old newspapers
to papier-mâché today's headlines

toenail clipping for a moon
and broken cookie on a plate