Standing here like this,
on a rough hillside in morning sun
with Tiberias that way, at the lake's edge,
and below, to my left, the few bleached columns
of a Capernaum that is now no more than a dream
glimmering brokenly in its fragile shade,
I see—suddenly—
Not a decorous congregation
arranged in rows, and wearing Sunday
instead of Everyday clothes! With altar; and ritual;
and walls raised up, great stone upon stone, to separate
and enclose.
O nothing—nothing like that, at all!
