Somewhere In Europe, But Always In My Heart

Heaven's construction site was shut down by fog,
the lost workers starving on scaffolds in the clouds.

The elders hid their dirty sconges from God,
their disembodied hearts disappearing from the room.

Industry turns for our pleasure and resentment, wishes
thrown out of windows to the ocean, a father

who can't say the names of his children, Thomas,
who stuck his hands inside Jesus, Saul, knocked off his horse

with knowing light. Somewhere in Europe, but always in my heart,
every tool and kitchenware burns its hidden thesis.