The devil’s in the details,
the phloem and xylem veins,
that stretch like vines toward’s
the inner sanctum of the steeple.
Blackened and riddled is the heartwood,
as if the parishioners had shot it up,
2nd amendment remedy style
with small handguns and a few grenades,
lake of fire licking at their upturned heels,
flailing and dumb struck at their abject guilt.
It looks fine, if you don’t pick at it.
Really, who would want to?
It’s fine on the outside.
All whitewashed. Born again and free.
Blood of the lamb and all that…
Amazing grace and sweet sounds.
But… carpenter aside…
the devil’s in the details.