At night
I hear them groaning
from the train yards.
It reminds me of dull
fireworks soaring towards
the eyes of children.
Or is it just the train
the wheels against rail
and tilting of cars in wind
It is the train
knowing what was done.

For them it was
a wonderful promise of water
on skin. Of water
and wet lips. The soldiers
laughed and tore off
their uniforms.
In the splashing everyone
lost themselves in
forgetting. They were in the
first pew watching
a baptism. The armbands heard
laughter as they grew
heavy with water.

The candles are hard
to watch. The burning reminds
me of all the little fires,
each one was a village. Closer,
where the burning fades into
blue. It reminds me of the eyes.
I can’t even see the candle.
The man’s head is pressed against
a tree. This is where God lives,
but the man has finished knocking.
His face melts down the door.