Late to the Second Coming

Irreverential, blasphemous

silence;

profane void, 

absence of Presence.

Shallow, knee-shaped

dimples, slowly

disappearing from the

hassock before coagulating wine.

Sanctuary air,

not stale; 

trace symphony of

pheromonic Bachian notes.

Wafer white

quartered-halves;

bread of life crumbs

trailing the Way?

Multi-hued tendrils

caressing the 

onion-thin parchment;

celestially highlighting

1 Thessalonians 4:17.

Stole-draped,

cross-adorned

pulpit.

“Eli, Eli

lama sabachthani.”

The nighttime thief 

has come;

revelation dawns…

A fool in want of oil.