Outsourced Love?

At each dawn chorus
Lewis Gwyn Knowle’s will stirred
Stiffening muscles and sinews
Grimacing against the strain
Of his unstilled bones.
Lewis, expressionless
Stood under a steaming shower
Devoid of thought
By sheer habit,
To wash the night away

It is always thus: cleansing
The pure emerge, brighter,
Hair and eyes sparkling
And if not so,
Then steady at least
Ready for the day’s toil
Whilst the memories
Of but a day ago are rinsed
Away to another world
Outsourced so we can be clean

In this green and pleasant land
Rid now of satanic mills and
Plumes of foul-smelling smog
A land of coal mines in cold storage
En route to carbon zero,
Environmental eyes sparkle
And if not, conscience quelled,
Guilt is outsourced
To another world
So we can be clean

And if we behave so
Does not God but wilder?
That Will forged in eternity past

That heavenly corporation
A nuclear fire of spirit
Outsourcing the spotless Son
Sluiced somewhere
Outside a city wall
Beyond the satanic mills
Of synagogue and temple
Like some blackened commando
Baptized in our grime
So we can be clean

So, Lewis Gwyn Knowle,
I wonder if imprinted
In some recess of mind
Whether you, imago dei
Whatever satanic foulness
Clings to you, hear a voice
Commanding your eyes
To look upon your clean
Transfigured self,
Made of the sunrise?