Heretics
Something still burns in the back of the mind.
Soldiers sleep the good sleep of the correct
in garrisons and wait there to be called.
Zwingli disputes the real presence of Christ
in bread and wine. If one gets that one wrong
you could be snapped on some machinery
devised by a yet more pragmatic wit.
The world adores the orthodox, or thinks
it does. The wind and rain comply with all
its rules and then, beyond, solemn planets
moving through somewhere ignorance is bliss
tilt at awkward, misunderstood angles.
