Pareidolia
A poem
Pareidolia
Walking home from church
I see faces from the pulpit
in the rain, in the stains
on the sidewalk in front
of the chapel; and again,
more of them, on the backs
of rain-soaked walkers, sketched
in damp, and grimly staring;
the eyes of saints, haints
gone ahead and waiting;
the eyes of — does the Trinity
have two eyes, or six?
Who can tell apart
the holy and unholy
visions of a soul weaned
on ancient scriptures?
And who can name things
seen in clouds of glory?Thank you for reading Every Other Sunday. Do you know someone who might enjoy it? Please share. Comments are welcome.

