The Cornerstone at the Corner Store is Stolen

the silhouetted figure on the stage is a stranger to all present.

the handmade sign below the figure says only “CHAPTER”.

the colors are indistinct and merge in the darkened arena.

the trampled grass and clay field does not reflect the moonlight.

a man in a ski mask makes a gallant gesture to an old woman.

a little girl smiles and weeps as the pressure in her ears builds.

a band cannot hear itself over the sound of the descending craft.

a barrier of wood bursts into flames and debris is scattershot.

no one near it is injured or seems to have noticed the incident.

no boots or neutral colored ensembles are worn on this occasion.

no matter how many arrive the field accommodates the swell.

no questions of “whose?” or “are we still withering?” are asked.

down beneath the undercarriage the grass remains undisturbed.

down where the snakes still pretend to threaten when observed.

down the main road from here rises something barely visible.

down a list of those who think they know him are only ghosts.

what was this automatic marker put here for in the first place?

what makes the tooth of the lion more valuable than a pipeline?

what can be nailed shut can be kicked into the stars he whispers.

what fuses you with the sun is easier than flying home alone.