Angel on fire
Reaching higher and higher
You can burn these wings
She can fly by herself

Only you and the sun can turn the sky on
There are few things in this world
That a man can rely on

When this world grows cold, the sun's very fire gone
On the day that you must go
That's the day I will die on

Only you and the sun can fight the moonlight
Beat back the sadness
The madness of midnight

Sanctify the gladness, steadfastness of daylight
Bookend the badness
Upend the dark night

Only you and the sun can sing destiny's song
The darkest of your hours
Are brightest before dawn

If fate were unfaithful, or otherwise forlorn
Life itself would still be grateful
For the day that you were born

Only you and the sun are deserving of twilight
A state of solemn grace
And harbinger of starlight

Now face to face with you by the firelight
I pray that I wake
Beside you at first light

©Jason Cole

The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Steir)

these two allusionists  **(not illusionists!)

composition is a criminal sentencing, a full-time sensitizing,
a never ending t/rue seeing, recalling, photography by word.

I am a career criminal.  I know.

these two retranslate by digging into word wells and
well hid storage closets under stairs so that we,
the not-in-attendance may envision their sightings with
two hands clutching, comprehending almost better than
the one who is actually there.  

for our version, the one they provide is,
coffee with cream,
scotch with a  beer chaser, tea with honey,
all to be, sipped slow, so
the hot frost on my the chest, infiltrating nostrils,
Vaporub-spreads slow and easy, brainward.  

the allusionists.

the habitual employers of this
specific filter,
(word weavers, I call them behind their backs),
weaving is not in my eternally planned skill set.  

I do so admire their tapestries
that guilt alone demands tribute and obeisance
and this poor imitation.  

I do so admire their tapestries.