a parrot in the church

Peering between my fingers -
same sense of guilt
as torch-lit reading late at night.
The prayer's fault, not mine,
the priest intoning
(Ah, the things
that prayers do Lord, that priests
know nothing of!)
"Lord thou hast openéd
mine eyes that I may see..."


there above the rood screen,
high in the chancel
(where the deity should be),
a green bird. First
                         a hawk.
Then clear enough, a parakeet,
silent and unmoving -
or else a green sponge
soaking up our prayers.
A stream of golden photons
like a rafter forms its perch.


Something deep inside
(the prayer perhaps)
makes us expendable, says
parrots will inherit
what we leave of earth.
I'm thinking it's asleep - until
I see the fear etched in its face.
Perhaps it is God after all!
Or maybe prayer created it,
like fire creating smoke.


Or could it be pure prayer,
flawless and more spiritual
than ours. Could be
the incense in the air
sustains it... Wonderful,
the way it spreads its wings now:
deep green feathers,
golden eyes,
more like a peacock
than a parakeet.


But prayer takes many forms
as words detract from meaning,
as the creature folds its wings again,
becoming sleek and streamlined
as a fish, its ocean
upside-down.
                   Eureka! When
I move my fingers it will morph.
It's final form:
a plume of green smoke
slowly thinning.