The Mormon Missionaries

Who knows what day 
they keep as the Sabbath? 
You can see them almost any day 
come dusty down the middle 
of the streets, 
as if they were afraid 
of gates and sidewalks. 
In their Brutus haircuts, 
clean white shirts and ties, 
they seem to give the lie 
to their gentle Bibles, 
tucked in their stern arms. 
I have seen them march so 
through towns where their 
Gabriel-scented tongues were strange, 
clipping names to their boards, 
intransigent as sirens. 
They know no questions 
that were not formed 
in the tongues of prophets. 
They know no death 
that has not been redeemed 
in Jesus’ flesh. 
They are certain as the still movement 
of birds⁷ wings caught in God’s air. 
Ah, if we, 
searching for that undiscovered point, 
could stand as steady as these witnesses, 
as chosen as they, 
as lost as we.