The bamboo groves make my church this morning.
long, pale paths of bending green;
their narrow leaves meeting in the middle of the road
as the groves touch,
making arches moving in the rain.
Sometimes these groves stretch to the left -
and I can glimpse another aisle or nave
or, row on row,
they hold some other soft green space
at the waiting end,
where my eye stops
and my church begins.