Tag Archives: winter night

Angels Lighting Candles

We’ve made it to Colorado, up in The Rockies.

The Red of Autumn is turning brown into white.

Our car is out of gas, we huddle together on

the steps of an old stone church, out in nowhere,

beneath the sky full of stars, angels burning candles.

The wind is crisp, becoming harsh through the night.

We cling to each other in the alcove of the doorway.

We whisper the secret words the angels taught her.

We whisper the verses that promised that we’re loved.

Will one of the angels come down and kiss our heads?

Who will come in the morning? Friend or Enemy?

Can’t trust a Jesus Thorns to have made a tender heart.

But we’ve got nowhere lese to go and nowhere to hide.

We’ve got to make it to the sea, so we can see again the sun.

Will those angels send a friend? Do they believe we’ve bled enough?

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Sealed Fountain

Teresa is walking along the edge
Of the fountain,
Her heels off, held in her hands,
She is barefoot.
Too late to kiss the stars, one by one,
Her clothes immaculate.

World’s Fair Park, as the sun rises, Solstice.
A star falls.
She is lingering here, her footsteps counted.
Leviathan watches her.
We danced together, slow sway, sappy ballad.
Now a memory.

I catch her as she jumps from the edge.
Leviathan purrs blasphemy.
She is warm, soft and a reminder I am lost.
Leviathan is sealed.
She will fly out tonight to Bucharest, beloved.
No perfumed gardens.

White on White

White on white of her

under shirt and t-shirt

and she absently wipes

down the tables, end of shift.

Too worn black pants,

and spiky black hair,

pixie cut growing out again,

sighing of the growing rift.

The simple little diner

is too garish white against

the black of the cold winter night.

Too sleep again is the gift.

I put sickly green bills on the table,

and she smiles, her brown eyes shining.

At the door I watch her, white on white,

as my girlfriend comes to give me a lift.

 

The Distant Angels

Christmas Eve, almost midnight, all is still.
Ally walks alone, only her breath, heartbeat,
and the crunch of her feet on soft snow.
Her favorite jacket, black parka, faux fur
lining around the hood, is her armor,
a prism of her faith, in the darkness.
Christmas Eve, the sky clear, wide open,
all the stars, the distant angels, come to
sing of hope, of love, of all that can be.
The church was left behind years ago,
the stained glass smashed to jagged edges,
the large doors and tiled roof long lost to rot.
Ally steps inside, the starlight the altar candles,
the moon gives her her acolyte robes, the wind,
quiet and still, whispers something, somewhere distant.
Something lingers still, and there is a stirring, a dream,
a terrifying hope in the lonely night. No angels come,
but a birth has come, His Birth, a world without end.
She here’s a cry, a growl outside, no mere animal hunger
or aggression or fear, something more, something come.
Ally pulls her parka and hood tighter, whispers a prayer.
She leaves The Church, walks into the night, led by stars
and moon, led by her eyes that sees it’s light in the cold.
She looks not at the demon, though she feels it’s biter gaze.
Christmas Morning, the day has changed over, morning has come,
though still dark and cold, still so little light, still so far to go to the sun.
Ally walks, whisper sings an old hymn, of all the love that is near.