by Maura Ford
We are alone in the Central Church of Christ parking lot
Soupy black asphalt, nothing to keep the beer cold
Totality is the language spoken here
This is God’s country
Seeded with all the devils we don’t know
Is a fallow faith even faith at all?
We stare directly into the void without collapse
Coronated briefly by a common miracle
For only four minutes and thirteen seconds
Salvation is free
Maura Ford is a baker and writer in Chicago, IL. You can read her poems in Sarka, Dirt Child, Pom Pom Press, and Afterimage.