Old Poem--New Day: Congregation (or I miss Townsend)

a drop of rain
hits the heat
on my shoulders
and purrs its refrain

this is church
I say--
to a congregaton of rocks
that once
retrieved, cleaned and presented to the Sun
reveal
something like heirlooms.

a litany of stories
and facts
a supernatural chant
birthing visions and hubris.

All rise
feet planted in moving water...

All yielding
for the mountain baptism

All wet with evolution.