Tabernacle

In this tabernacle
of familiar flesh, honored
if only temporary shanty,
the Pnuema prods; pushing
our skin to split and spill
its transience.  Our spirit groans
not to dissolve, not
to be left exposed, but for Life
to pour into the soul's mould,
swallowing mortality whole.

In this tabernacle,
by the torn veil,
death and incense dawdle.
The coupled curtains sag.
Listless sparkling cherubim
wonder; reminiscing fire
and cloud, law and shadow;
not for what's been left, but
watching forward, for the things
angels aspire to see.

In this tabernacle,
the sun like a bridegroom, like an Olympian
runs out laughing,
tirelessly chatting up the moon in
all his languages while the stars
sing loudly to themselves,
joy twinkling at a secret
spread to the ends of the earth.
Search me, find me, keep me
even in this tabernacle.