Our Lady of Sorrows


The streets draw small circles.

White lamps confuse

the moths (a killing

light by the church).

Chalk on the pavement says

they will be back.

The bell of light

tinkles with wings

and heavy bodies

thumping against glass.

This is what angels sound like –

abandon of flesh

to light. Drink

is a humming insect.

I stare too long at the lamp –

am blind when they

find me,

thump their bodies into me.