Beneath the arch,
        among the branches,
      the maunder of her eyes
           finds noir in an afterimage,
every reflection is unique,
    explicit and indivisible,
        every reflection is her,
      there she looks close
       for gracefulness,
            in the essays of her skin
               and their brazen transparencies,
         she enters into her body fable,
      the shape of her resembles
           the tenor viol: where it widens,
                  where it narrows,
                where it digresses
              and monochromes,
           she reflects a fragile geography,
             a soft cargo, but
               an inkling of hurricane,
             rendering the fault lines
          beautiful and strong,
       in supplication tomorrow's explorer
will disturb the patterns
   until she's become her own lullaby

Faded stains of bourbon
dot her nightstands’ weathered surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky

Each impediment commemorates
a symbol of courage
to help forge another day

Bras, slippers, heels, and flats
pepper the carpet
each a reflection of impediments
that fleck her soul

Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those she harmed
forgotten by others
fester within her frontal lobe.

Rain pelts upon the window
rat-tat, rat-tat against the panes
repetitive sounds that fling open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
every trace of her anguish

This month I call you Saviour.
Mostly, instinctively
I call to you as Lord-God and Father.
Typically these are the names
I call to mind at early dawn.

But this month you are Saviour
as I become more acutely drawn
to my need to call on your saving grace
on your sacrificial willingness
to cast off the trappings
wrapped up with heavenly glory
to embrace the blood and the mess
that comes with small town nativity
and ultimate betrayal in the big city.

This month I address
my Hosannas to you,
my loving, risen Saviour.