are we silent saints or sinners,
bodies at rest or spirits sunk by
feet of clay?
we revel in neat procession,
fling ourselves with stoic pride into
slow, stately gait and tamed tongues
hide not hedonistic hearts,
saints but sinners
in flimsy disguise.
fools dancing now in darkened streets
perform ritual of grace,
pour steadfast love,
pray for sin's demise.
Night gives way to innocent dawn,
naked in her holiness,
through experienced eyes.