peter-taylor-mcconnellWhisper

American

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Sky ablaze like GodThe sky was ablaze like glass in the church; / recumbent on stone floors / we had knocked out / the windows to let in only the blind light,

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Birds on a wireThen there was the sudden stillness / of thousands of birds on the telephone wires / strung like records of our transgressions

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DerelictI. / I was on 7th Street; / a troop of boys was riding ahead of me, their backs

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PrayerOn Sunday, I open up the house / to let in the June morning / to ease cobwebs from the empty rooms,

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Some final clarityWe were startled into gazing at the sun— / forgetting ourselves, we were / startled by its sudden procession

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