Landscape with Iconolatry

They called it Armageddon, the rain
like a bloodthirsty snare drum
in a brutal hail of acorns
cracking on the roofs like tiny skulls.
The birds are all in hiding,
the stones are turning black,
the red brick glows like battlefields
with twisted down spout limbs
and instant mushrooms in the bloody puddles
wide as yarmulkes.

The only thing that's still is a glistening bag
held sheer in a barbed wire tunnel
(no knowledge without suffering, Siddhartha said).

Everywhere, rivers are flowing
like the great chain of being
'cross cloistered checkerboards
in a monstrance mist
that extends across the world
on crosiers with rusted hooks.

Despite what Moses says
we know the storm, somehow, will pass,
as do the crows and rabbits -
no apocalyptic fantasies
for Cromwell and the Protestants
just work to tidy up God's way.