A short walk, crowded streets, loud cars and thumping music, planes from the airport.
A spirit world unseen, between the cracks in the sidewalk, where she slipped, mother’s head turned.
She is a freshman and quiet and geeky, carrying the lamb in her arms, both quiet and docile.
She carries the lamb to heaven, disassociated from greater San Diego after The Devil comes.
A cool and grassy place by cold waters, where we are supposed to be made to rest in drink,
in a better place, this old brokenness pasted away, but it’s the new has not come, we still bleed.
She was taken there to be taken away, and someone the spirit was unaware of the flesh in time,
and outside of the meadows before the gates, she and her lamb are sitting in cool grass, gentle sun.
And what now can we say, without the eyes that saw the end on a copper twine, garroting the moon?
She carried the lamb in this mundane place, and then carried it to heaven, and God saw the blood upon her cheek.
The blood showed she was known by the guard, and her heart should have been enough, if they let me in.
She and the lamb are beyond pain and sorrow, laying down by cool waters, to rest and to drink of the water that forgets.