Calvary Wood

The moon has spilled its milk
on the knees of the cathedral,
soiling sleepless parishioners
in its soak of celestial nectar,

tickling their bent blue necks
like beams of linen and silk.
Alone in the carpeted grove,
its sandstone spire skewering

wayward stars like doves,
the church digests psalms
in mouthfuls of syllables,
making a meal of choired

speech and holy rhythms.
The flower girl seals her-
self in the confession box
to bloom in its lonely soil.

Spencer Keene (he/him) is a writer from Vancouver, BC. His poetry and short fiction have been featured in a variety of print and digital publications, including SAD Mag, The Gentian, Poetry Lighthouse, and Dumbo Press. Find more of Spencer's work at skeenewriter.com.