And so begins a Sunday morning
The radiant yellow orb making pathways
Through the clustered oaks and pines
And shadowy amorphous forms race
From field to field and far beyond
Avian hordes arrive as if by magic
To populate and preen
This is a cathedral built by no man
Where only the utterance of wind
And light of equality
Express a greater truth
Than that found in a shuttered building
Where minds are closed and unfamiliar
And formality is lifted among them like a golden calf