hum of your mouth--
honest hole I stare into
hour on hour.
I would make my home,
close to holy words,
near hands that play.
Together our harmony
builds a humble church,
headed by a two fingered steeple.
How long we waited,
every peal of hollow bell
sharper than a hammer's edge.
From this house
all homilies proclaim
hallowed be He,
the one who hears.
In the place of healing, He comes,
inhabits the fellowship of our steeple.
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