Sunlight dyed crimson by the lead-limned folds
of the master shepherd’s cloak
Turns auburn the coiled braid of the harpist
Leaning gently into her royal
Instrument inlaid with vines, a Corinthian column
At its prow. She weaves us melodies.
The stained glass sheep listen, eyes
Downcast or mesmerized, feet
On apple green astroturf. HOw sweetly
Jesus leads his flock.
But what is this we hear? What heresy assaults
Our ears? The seed that Origen
Implanted ran rampant like kudzu or bittersweet when
Rowed ashore by Murray, who was
Blown off course and washed up in New Jersey
Where crazy farmer Potter’s
Chapel waited for an anti-Calvin to unbolt
The gates of Hades and harrow
Hell and escalate sinners to God’s coffeehouse.
Not obedient sheep.
But randy goats, fauns, satyrs, Pan’s
Unspeakable obscene ilk were
All invited to a divine live aid
Amplified synthesized concert
After, of course, some brief retraining in the basics of
Remedial ethics: Miss Manners’
Finishing school for psychopaths, terrorists and sadists
With rehabilitation guaranteed.
Verily he would never insult us by calling himself
Pastor to a flock of sheep.
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