Voices raised, singing
And then the word:
prophets in a barren land
weeping for repentance and reaping,
a loud cry
trumpets to tear down mountains,
rude horned beasts and a red woman
candles and vials and seals
and a lake of fire
Outside the church
an ever-present prairie wind blows
Ripe heads of wheat rustle together
On a distant ridge
just a gradual rise of land
a few summer-fattened cattle graze
A large ever-expanding cloud
pushes out the boundaries of the sky
In that pause before combine and harvest