Turbulent Tipp: Good friday night

Two hundred sober cars, as if to make
especial favour of this special day,
dammed all down the double-yellow-lines
that armed the church like sulphur tried with rain.
I heard a hymn inside. An aeroplane
drew sadly through the clouds. The Philistines
danced in pigwhite shoes and hail the grey
hard-High, and kept the petrol pumps awake.

The other street was snowing where I saw
the walls all touched with music and the dark
inside. My shoes were wet. All sung and gone
to luck or something else. The sun went blue
and bands of weather yawed like judgements through
the clouds. Hide or know them. Iceslops shone
...