actually, your spirit is not really like a flickering candle sitting on the altar, which we’ve protected from scorching with a heat proof mat
you burn with irrepressible, ferocious passion.
in truth, your spirit has little in common with the gentle breeze from the fan fluttering the orders of service as it rotates from the front pews during the children’s talk
we can barely stand upright in the face of your love.
luckily, your spirit barely resembles a helium filled red balloon, rising, just out of reach, to taunt us as it rests against the church ceiling
you would subsume us in the unrelenting hold of your peace.
we think we have you nailed
in our fire resistant,
red cloth swathed metaphors
thank god our inadequacy defining you has never stopped you yet.