The Pagan Hymnal

Small and green like foliage
but etched with symbols of the faith:
a cross with outstretched wings
(one reaching for the spine,
the other that inverted wall of page).

And tucked in each corner -
below, above the joining place
where crossbar meets the vertical -
an as yet un-multiplied fish, a dove,
a sprig of holly, and, like crates emptied
of all but hope, and faith, the baby’s cradle,
still as a shut-away dreidel.

I imagine a similar, pagan hymnal.
Made raw from oakwood bark,
splintering the fingers of
the one who picks it up to read,
not of the desert fables wrought
in symbols on the front cover,
but voices heard at night,
offering not certainty, nor even light,

instead communion with grass, a greener sight.