After Kneeling in Grand Central

December 19, 2010

her knees part from the reflective floor,
skirt flowering to swallow a faded green constellation.
She is not crying, and the thin sprints
of gold above her do not trace active gods.

The sky collapsed so long ago,
broke to a chapel, which is prayer in the back of an chevy Astro
slabbed in marble to slide sanctuary.

When she vaults her whispered hope and fear,

they flip and turn the time boards,
as if she flurried the departing hour, as if we arrive closer
to spirit when our footsteps fall clustered.

A chapel is a box named for what does not enter.

A safe meant not to hold is aware of absence.
While the pumping calves of travelers
scissor the sides of her eyes, she prays to absence,

and it fills her, the ceiling gods stationary.


One Response to “After Kneeling in Grand Central”

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