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?