Among us still roam the crusaders,
who with the blunt ends of their axes
gently ring our doorbells and press
their fierce, hooded gazes against the
black palm of the mesh screen,
inquiring melodiously if we are interested in
acquainting ourselves with God. They
stride through the early evening,
their blank capes swaying lightly in the breeze
like flickering candlelight, casting shadows 

on the sidewalk. 
We've seen them dancing at summer barbecues,
gleefully pounding ants into the dust;
we've seen them at Church, laughing so hard at the priest's jokes their armor tears down the sides. Once, we saw them
waiting for movie tickets, watching their silvery phone screens like they were wondering how they get there at all.
Mostly, we don't see them around. Some people call them a
posse of angels, demons, or otherwise - we just want to understand these people who proffer sweets in open hands, while
promising paradise is down the road.
Perhaps we will never know God anyway. Still
these people call from the door and urge us to give it try, it would be a good idea to go along, you know, and to

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