We stared at the steeple, God stared back.
We knew it was a lie before dressing this moment.
You cried “there’s no god here,” no god here I repeated.
Just beautiful rolls of carpet,
deep painted windows and whispers, the whispers
changing our names, god given names, to a temple guess,
a temple joke, and no one laughed, no God for sure.
A stranger grasped my hand and pulled me through a curtain.
“Your passing through heaven’s curtain,” He said softly.
The quiet in our new gateway to god antithetical
to a clamoring noise in our minds. I screamed “God is dead.”
Hushed silence disappeared as we left a fake temple.
Salt Lake City swallowed with relief as we boarded a bus
to leave, never to return. Funny I guess. We never returned
to each other. The world underwent a change for us.
God did not return. He grabbed a bus and headed to Vancouver.