You know what this light is for,
how tall it is, and how clear.
You know that it resonates
and that what you say into it
is transmitted directly to heaven.
You await God’s conjuring.
Under the light, you watch
stones turn over and rub,
men assemble each other
out of bone and gesture to storm the tea-stall.
They beg tobacco
and the fare home: Achaea, Nebraska,
Katherine Street, Ashton-under-Lyne.