A sheaf of short poems

 
     Red as a sanctuary lamp 
lit through the night
in an old Catholic church,
            these flowers 

(I couldn’t tell you 
their name) glow 
in a narrow alley

            dim with weeds
in the middle of the day.

*

On the Feast of Our Lady of the Snows

       Mercy, in this heat
of the summer and the heart—
              Our Lady’s snowfall.


*

Old windows, thick glass,
render the room mute as storms
gather. I notice
the wind in the way the tree
across the street seems to breathe.


*

       Rain plaits pre-dusk sun
splintering 
              past deep green branches.

*

       A room swept empty  
by darkness—
              Gregorian chant.

*

       The sound of sirens 
tangled up
              in the sound of bells.

*

       If this is exile—
days given
              over to birdsong.

*

       At dusk, how the moss 
begins to 
              glow in the graveyard.