Whenever I see a row of sparrows, perching,
an aviary congregation on a power line,
I think to go to church,
to kneel, wings folded,
feathers to feathers with fellow believers,
feeling the sacred current humming within us,
hearing the harmonies of holy hymns
filling the sanctuary around us,
the sermon sung by a cardinal.
Then, after we’ve warbled the final doxology,
I’d flutter off with the rest of the flock
into the Sabbath sunset,
as visiting angels
fly away home.