I drove past the corner of Second and Main

I drove past the corner of Second and Main

while the sky was unloading a heavy, dark sheet.

The steeple was blurred by the curtains of rain,

looking like a tooth pulled out of the street.

A 'For Sale' sign leaned in the overgrown grass,

and a broken gutter hung loose from the eaves.

I used to think God lived behind that stained glass,

but now it’s just brick and a pile of wet leaves.

A red wall is losing its mortar to a leak,

and no one is coming to point up the stone.

The silence inside is no longer unique,

it’s the same kind of quiet I find on my own.

It’s just a building with a sagging front door.

I don't know why I expected it to be something more.