Homily

Blow in old storm
old ghosts from faded memories
the old folks dead for some years now
in folded purple cotton clusters
climbing into low earth orbit
only pretty from a distant perch
fierce
   and ugly from underneath

rumbling gruff god-like 
bending knees
penance trending a sharp up
in damp sheets those ghosts gather
on wailing voice the names of
original families
original sin
first bastard curse of all mankind
bow your heads, simple sheep
in blows the storm.

TA