Paresthesia Poem by B. Sven Telander

Paresthesia



Sweeping up feathers
and broken stained glass
on an infinite Sunday,

he dabs with white sleeve
at his forehead
anointed with holy sweat.

Divine debris of all
shapes of creed meet
firmament of broom

up and down the
long cross colonnade,
echoing so true vapor

across his whisper-hushing
librarian of a brush;
articles of sanctuary

bleed clean scouring
wounds, fresh nests
of perpetual renewal

harvest colorful evils
in a shiny black dustpan
for the custodial home

of this
particular janitor
in Heaven.

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