Helianthemum

There was a Sunday sun rose

On a dew-dripped verdant pastor,

And on my walk to worship

I spied its green church sepal.

And the petals flared like

Apollo's chariot flames, like

God himself, no longer sunlight

Imprisoned within man's dark cathedrals

But, rising, rising rose

From pasture's earthy clutches.

Stay men, scarlet stamen,

From telluric churchward journeys,

But let them rise like you have, rose.

Carpel, be not carnal.

Find God imprismed in the sky.