Shriners

a bowl for libation, obeisance
for sweet oil
and the soft run on skin
for dark wine
and the throat burn

candles guttering in 
silence as the line of
bodies forward moves toward
the shrine with the
white-robed priest

and silent, deadly stone stretches
over their heads into
darkness, polished
precious blue cresting
the curves

feet shuffle against the
polished floor, sandals
creaking - the priest is
quiet but resolute

dips his finger, touches,
raises the bowl, progresses,
lips kiss the polished
rim, and the body
withdraws

a bowl for
libation, obeisance and 
people ranged in lines
deferent for heart and word
soft pooling light

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