Alien Piety
Religion comes to me in little waves
Or more like ripples on the warming sea
Around my thoughts and pulsing nerves. The caves
And sounding feelings that are really me
Along this coastal tide refuse the hints
These riffles whisper in their brackish hush.
Instead I want the deep subconscious tints
That come from grottoes, caverns and the gush
From under seabed, heated fountain vents.
There truths in pinnacles grow upward, life
Forms (dreams) surge high from these ocean floor rents,
Forms waft like visions on a seer’s knife.
And it is this and these that I prefer
To liturgies of frankincense and myrrh.