Matins

Striding across frozen furrows
and iced-over bootprint puddles
shot through with interwoven shatterings of frost
I quickly reach the hedgerow brow
of this gently yawning swell of fields
and instantly my Christian heart
yields to the well-trod pagan glory
of this late November dawn

And earthy Hallelujahs rumble through and
tumble from me
as the rising sun and setting moon
seesaw through the perineum fulcrum
of my pantheistic soul