Sunday, June 7, 2015

The wind, the voices

The wind pushes them
from the room. They flow
into the street, the wind
behind them, slicing
the light, separating it
into component colors,
component voices.

The crowd hears the noise,
a cacophony of languages,
these followers speaking
tongues they do not know,
tongues they do not understand.

The voices sweep the streets,
replacing the air with noise
of thunder and fire. Houses
and shops are burnished gold,
becoming the echoes
of the voices. Even
the dust has colors.

Photograph by Sabine Sauermaul via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


Martha Jane Orlando said...

Oh, this is brilliant, Glynn! The imagery caught me up in the mystery that is the Holy Spirit.

Mary Harwell Sayler said...

Lovely, lovely!