Archangel-33

There was no beginning, No hovering over the waters. Just an interlude between traffic passing A unique exhalation between two breaths, Before sunset, the glowing horizon line. Perhaps her birth was a transmigration, But honestly and more aptly, Her life was a transcension. Francesca, This world which you found so various, so new So unconfined and unconfigured, You approached it unfettered Naked, Yet still refined. The afternoon light that drifted through your windows Made shadows behind shreds of wallpaper. They curled dilated from your apartment's walls. As you sat in a wooden chair eroded by time Your dark eyes did not as

Winter morning last December, Hunched in my cold car, I waited for the green light. The Hopewell Courthouse threw its heavy shadow Concrete blockhouse that eclipsed the sun. I sat in Monday gloom, Poised with other slaves at the intersection, Stretching before mounting our weekly hamster wheels, Anticipating the collective mundane routine. Then, like a brilliant linear chrysanthemum, The brick wall of the Beacon blazed red, Inflamed by the rising sun. The Beacon Cinema, classic remnant from an earlier time- When movie theaters were unique and tickets cost a dime. This morning, over dreary factory spires belching smoke, Clipping the top of a

I offer you roses Never faded. Driving by the sea in evening, A single road, Made of sand. The ocean is a desolation- A tableau, Salvador Dali worthy. The horizon- a glowing sash, It holds back the sky A tattered curtain that drifts. In my dreams, By the sea in evening, Driving slowly, A single road, Made of sand. I offer you roses, Never faded. Despite the years, Storms at sea and on land, There has been but one road, One Pilgrim Soul I have loved. You are my heart My oasis. On this single road Together, I offer you my love, I offer you roses Never faded.

Each tree has a separate history Memories that insulate their core Protect the tender marrow. As their roots go wide Entangle through a mingled soil So their branches reach; Each leaf embraces its sister and its brother. From sapling into oaken giant, Build rings like frozen ripples Concentric extensions into a wilderness Carved from ancient stone by restless water Empirical strength Raw power un-tempered by mercy. The long march of lonely sunsets across a horizon That is both archaic and young. Artifacts of time are captured into lignin Each moment a butterfly ornately winged Its brief struggle in the frothy sap Leads to swif

Give me, In my un-dramatic living room On a work night, the house asleep, Boots still on, Feeling the 'Real' for a moment, Like stars shining in winter overhead- Give me courage, A small glimmer of her conviction. Sonmi 451, Lips moving behind the glass, While your friends died in your defense- Through tears you spoke the glowing letters: Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future. Truth is singular. Its "versions" are mistruths. I will not be subjected to criminal abuse. Orison, a quaint, almost ancient word. A prayer. A