Dry Cubes

Hum, birds, your hymns hammer home
predictable morning messages. Did you 
say mourning? Are doves a warning? Can
grief become stackable, seasonable, ready
to keep the house warm in the most brutal
winter on record? Only if the cardinal says
yes, direction is crucial for a good life, in
or out of the institutional church. Rain
can't get in here, it's been inspected. 
Clouds are merely meteorological 
curiosities, excuses to sing at length
of chaos, unpredictability, and dawns.