Theology Of Apple Trees

Theology Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2025 12 20

When I hear sad raven on the phone line 
discuss theology of apple trees, 
I turn my face toward shimmer of sunset, 
expecting to see Visucia smile, 
but by the cactus on porch of her house 
I see her typewriter on fire with dreams. 

Nine elms lined straight along the boulevard 
talk about vertical tempo of faith 
stored in secret archive of innocence 
despite how psalms of broken harps reflect 
repentant burden of the honest man 
who sells his doubts in novels about fools. 

Candles scream unsilently in the void 
about names of the dead carved on wall stones 
by trembling hand of the last vampire king 
who confesses his love to the flute player, 
but she prefers to play tennis at dawn 
because she feels truth should never be sold. 

If rows of houses by the railroad tracks 
fade into shadows of gray pencil lines, 
the crescent moon that knows our suffering 
expands reluctant feathers of sunset 
to brush smokestacks of sprawling factories 
where blind workers construct robots of flesh. 

Because I never reach end of the road 
on breathless floating of chromatic bells, 
I gasp at vision of rutilant hills 
where coatless refugees from civil wars 
learn how to drive cars by uttering oaths 
in harmony with clocks in trunks of elms. 

Unclaimed stories fester in pageless books 
obscured by stark repetitions of rites 
that villagers perform on broken bridge 
though footsteps in snow reveal faceless ghost 
who always lingers beside our locked doors 
without expecting mercy sold by Death. 

No sanctuary lamp glows in the tower 
where Visucia paints my secret face 
on fractured mirror of the pulsing mask 
since no one knows the gospel of delays 
sprouts from garden where serpents invent faith 
to prove empty rooms remember my soul. 

Alone in temple of the laughing skull, 
I wait for Visucia to return 
home from other side of the spinning Earth 
because her passionate soul haunts my dreams 
with the one puzzle piece of scriptural code 
that completes spiraling wheel of my soul.