The Pastor’s Tale

He sniffed; sighed. Where am I aloopin’ tonight, he wondered. Tasting the young night moth. Just a’born this very evenin’, by the sweetness of it. Listening forward, then by the side, he slow walked to the pastor’s lane. I am stiller’n the serpent egg, I am. All a’wrapped and makin’ shadows. He sniffed. Ah, there’s the pastor’s breath, close and warm. I’m fat swimming now, I am. Hungry for the sermon’s tongue. Save me, pastor, sang the pale shape of desire. I am the lord’s chariot, come down to take you home.

I am the resurrected, he sighed. I am your doubt, I am your black howl. And over the poor and pebbled paths he walked, neither turnin’ nor rustlin’ rock, leaf. ‘Til ‘pon the pastor’s door he cast his longing. I am angelus come to make my mark. Then sitting down before the servant’s door, he tasted lock and knob and frail sad secrets.

I am salvation, he moaned. Come to me and bring your godliness. I would come in, pastor-man. I would come in.

And so it was through window sealed and brick a’mortared, past crucifix silver, ‘n past wood a’polished with fingers’ oil, he came upon the man envirtued. Came upon the old god’s faithful. Came ensorceled, all a’magicked. And when our pastor’s eyes alit upon this most unwelcome, he saw the son. He saw heaven’s light.

I bring you eternal life, man of mortal dust. I am the hope. I am the way and the return. Rise up and seek your golden shores here, in me. Rise up and give yourself freely to me, for I am redemption. So it was that night, when darkness came a’stalkin, the pastor was cast down. And the old house heard the boy a’laughin’, heard the words all ancient, felt the hot and soured breathin’. Then without memory all quiet came again.

He sniffed; sighed. Where am I aloopin’ this summered night?