Cambodian Hammond Organ and the "222 Principle"

The House of the Khmer calls on Sunday,
stepping loudly on sacred ground.
Churches crashing,
floor boards soaked in holy water,
spread-legged and easy to invade.

The last pipes of prayer burning.
The Hammond, she is running to ash.
A wooden mouth piercing sky,
now deep-throated and sinking,
buried beneath war.
Faith laying in sour soil,
faint sighs, faltering to reach the Almighty.

The Hammond
reverberating at the core,
lingering miles below the horizon- a little closer to earthly burden.
She sings quietly, whispers of wind over ash.

She waits in the wings of religion,
waits for faith to step out of fighting
and for hope to hollow back in the mouths' of Gods.