Buxtehude and Rain
Broken chords forced through a sodden door,
the church fallen in standing water, as if
derailed, silent watchers gathering before
broken wheels and piston steam, thrilled
and waiting for a hand to turn out the lights,
a half-round face behind a door spending
a blessing, a saint nodding over a job well done,
the crucifix over the door lost in the darkening.
poem by Leslie Philibert
Added by Poetry Lover
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