Teresa stood at the center of Henley St. Bridge,
On this bitterly cold morning, almost New Year.
Angels grow weary. In her spirit and wavering light, she wonders if the war is really done, if winter and Leviathan will devour the sun.
The sword made of silver sheathed in her heart, sun rising on New Year’s Eve, another working to be done, though drained, fading.
The rich and demons, brutal men and young women; find one you find the others. Men feed on the women, the rich on the men, demons on them all.
Teresa wants God and the sun to light the way, as sex and power and cruelty burns all of His world down.
She sees a young couple walking towards her, happy and laughing. More than anything she wants someone to tenderly touch her face.
She walks back to her apartment, her cell and recompense of works, to face Leviathan and the hopelessness of the New Year.