It could have been the way the Southern man
in his navy suit and skin rocked
along the church wall, swaying to the tambourine
like an old man wobbling to blues.
Or the way Sister Nettie got the spirit
all in her feet and behind, quick-stepping
like an ant hill was under her toes,
shaking her head back and forth in disbelief--
Or the way Deacon Jones raised
both hands like the police were there,
and started pacing the pulpit--
a foreign street--looking for Jesus.
But something quick came over the church
when Walter's voice slid to his ...