Autumn Calls

A sunbeam scrubbed down and brilliant

Polished and captured in glass capsule

Her silver tongue is warm to the touch

An ancestor to the magi to the miracle worker

Let Jesus himself spill from my womb

Revive those stillborn and breathe life

Into our lungs

I suppose that would be fire and flame

Dancing on lake tops while a thousand

Suns and the evening moon reflect upon

The glassy surface.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s