All that remains of this hollowed church,
in the Sonoran Desert,
are two bas-relief angels
plastered to the wall above the sacristy door:
wings spread, arms lofted
heavenward,
eyes focused on the redemption
written across banners they hold
above their heads.
The collapsing roof isn’t pierced
by a divine beam
come to lift them
from these ruins.
Will they lower their eyes, one day,
to the emptiness at their feet
and weep?