The first church architects
Were surely schooled in incense—
Human sensors for vaulted belief.
Maybe monastically taught.

Above pew, ambo, and altar
Escape
Into pungent relief. Surreal
To beam and heady concrete.

They, on scaffold, could tell
The where of and which of
Smells
Would linger, like fog on the moor
Only invisible.

Churches are built on worship
Or close for lack thereof.
I have held thuribles from on high
And sniffed the crevasses and crags,
An addict of God’s scent.

This article appears in September 2022.

Tom A. Delmore has written several books of poetry including Child Is Working to Capacity; A Poultice for Belief and Tell Them That You Saw Me but You Didn't See Me Saw. His poetry has also been published in Raven Chronicles and Seattle M.E.N. Magazine. He lives in Bellevue, Wash.