Creekside

They walked for miles to the
creekside where they lay
their heads upon the bank,

a line of worshippers, too
tired to go any farther,
resting in the heart of
the sacred ground

where their impure souls
would be cleansed of their
iniquity.

The creekside raised itself
to meet the people in their
reverie, the land touching

the flesh of pink faces
in an embrace of innocence.

The water wrapped itself
in and out of the masses
in serpentine undulations,

a fearful and merciful,
unnaturally beautiful
spinning of earth to spirit

and breath to flesh.
Singing in their weary voice,
the masses make their

words heard. Singing in
their sorrow and sin and
waiting to be washed,

to be made new, to become
creatures of God, creatures
of eternity and animals of light.

The creek wrapped itself
around the congregation,
its waters like fire, dripping

pieces of salvation. The
masses gathered before the fire
and from their place of

bent knee and heads bowed
in worship and exhaustion,
their eyes looked up.

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