Poetry - August, 2012


Altar flowers

They choose silence, their petals
held like tongues. Their stems
entangled, some are broken, others

sick with their own stiffness, their
own oily fragrance, with the sway
created by the chancel fan and with

the white noise of the nave. They
deny their own violence, opinions
fixed in pink. But finally one breaks

through even her own infernal silence,
won’t, in fact, shut up. She calls out to
the others boldly, Beatrice of the vase.



so the angel Gabriel kept his word
and hid his face for my own good he spoke
things that I couldn’t understand I was
filled with sparks and my joints began
to burn and the sky above the interstate
was a needlepoint of my life and I
could finally see how eternity
was not the same thing as forever but
rather an all-at-onceness which really
makes time a kind of grace that protects us
from something like the expanse of the sky
or the reality of such a feeling
in a vast field the universe falling
around me like a veil and then lifted