Revelation

I looked down Cross Street—
Noticed the trees like pews:
All in a row wearing velvet hues of fall;
Inviting me to sit on the sanctuary of grass,
Below the tabernacled sky.
A chorus of geese in the choir loft.
Wind in the pulpit—
Whose rhetoric is an invitation
To look here, look there—
See what I have done, see what I am doing.
The vestry are each a giant spruce—bowing.
The great white oak is alive with joy
As he gives the reading for the day.
And the peace—
Ushered down the isle by the sun itself.