You Must Be Saveds
The swollen creek slithered madly by
oak hollows muddy filled with turtles and snakes
on a higher bank, drenched
feet heavy with clay like Daniel’s vision.
That night the sleep was dreamy,
empty, like the caverns we slept in when we were kids
spelunkers with rented head lamps like twisted creatures,
struggling to fit through narrow defiles with lunch bags.
There were cities made of rocks and
hillsides littered with vines, interwoven
like the lacy frills of a Madonna’s shawl,
dangling like Tarzan on her widow’s peak.
There was gospel calling, tents and masquerades,
the everlasting hope of summer songs
straight backed pews lined on concrete slabs
guitars and kumbayas and you must be saveds.