Systole You came to me, a cathedral. Searching. Beneath the twinkling canopy of God all ghosts evaporate. Breathe. Gleam your love to me, sing silence. In midnight’s fizzing sky the seraphim blink eyes and trip on shooting stars. Pray. Each life unfolds. Remember me with candles in the witching hour’s prismatic smile. Laugh. A bass note, love; backbone of a melody. All else is shooting stars. All else is prayer. |
