We believe in the top shelf,
and the arm that reaches for worldly spirits;

We believe in what it finds there -
wine, Walnuss Geist, unholy dust;

We believe in the light that goes out,
and the light that does not light at all

on the gas ring hob;
We believe in toast.

We believe in stained glass,
and frescoed postcards pinned to the wall,

and the ancient list that falls to the floor,
for which we kneel in ash and wax

to save; We believe in one pie-dish
in the forgiveness that's served oven warm,

and the loft above, and the open door
and the tree in the yard for evermore;

We believe in love, and art, and religion;
We believe in sitting in your dirty little kitchen.