Worshipping The Void Poem by Mark Sauer

Israel atoned in an emptied room,
Bare, like that grotto one star did illume;
Once history hinged on a vacant tomb.
We kneel where once emptiness did loom
Pregnant with all futures; time did resume
From drained vessels, made holy by perfume
Poured out to scent the world, precious vacuum
That the spent forms of Ark and Son assume;
Lock turned, key discarded, a remnant fume
Lingers, like the whisper of angel's plume.
How different are those lost souls for whom
Void itself is holy; kneeling to gloom,
They worship, not emptied, but empty womb,
Because, not despite, no fruit shall there bloom;
Barrenness the sacrament of their doom.