There is no night, but in this winter sun
a bat is flickering; between trees, into the clearing
and out again. A small hole in this blue.
There is a sound like the rushing of souls,
too many to count, all passing on one breath.
They turn, the white vapour of their sighing
breaks the sky open.
It is this blue mantle, his mother's apron that she folds
and refolds. Where the ember landed there is one small hole.
There is no darning it, she holds it up to the light.
There are two bats up among the angels,
moving as the music moves, the violin's staccato,
beating time. Around and around
they fly until everyone is watching, breathless.
A church full of upturned faces.
The great wings of angels spread out;
splinters float down like feathers, bolts creak.
When the music is over, they will be gone -
there will be a great noise of wings and the roof
will lift. The whole sky will fall in.
Beyond Blue by Jenny Vuglar | Sandalwood & Vanilla Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
