'...he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove...' Matthew 3:16
Sometimes the dove is lost among the pigeons,
though wingéd hints still glance the hourly grind.
For love of dove I want to ditch 'religion',
and search the pigeon landscape for his signs.
There see a symmetry in bond of friend,
the blessed exchange that's not unlike a dance.
In friendship we observe our destined end,
a parable of our significance
told there to halt the take-for-granted trend.
What better treasure than be friend of God?
If this is worship, teach my heart to bend,
to see his wounded wing and know his love.
When churchy 'worship' somehow Christ would bait,
I'll sing, not to evoke, but celebrate.
(...first go at a sonnet.)