In the chapel young Thompson
built brick by brick, light beams
lifted dust to God while visiting
clergy brought long sermons
and prayed that one of us
in the pews of blue blazers
would hear the call
that hung unanswered
from the hammered timbers
stretched across the cool
adobe walls, I was inspired
to dream on Sundays:
to preach a calloused,
hands-on gospel
of an understanding God,
to walk among common
quandaries and offer all
the solace I could muster.
Of the many daydreams
that danced beneath the red-tiled
roof, you followed true.
for Bill Ripley
drycrikjournal 