so many sinners
loved this woman
that his fists (heavy
for such a small man)
become iron

cast to hammer words
like coffin nails
into this podium
or through the palms
of the god-become-man

he loves so much
it should be Sunday morning
instead of a Friday afternoon
funeral for a woman

who was so rebelliously alive
on Monday
& did not plan
to be in the box behind him
this soon

hey,
when a baptist preacher
smells opportunity

he pounds the sermon in

too late for her

but ours
are souls ready
for harvest