at times the vaulted glass is shut
the grey-white sky, depressing hut,
but down below, there's hidden glow,
within the heart of indigo

at time the heavens open wide
a groom to greet his new-wed bride
and soul escapes its black confine
to meld with nature and divine

and now i write, sick at heart,
the crow cries out as archer's dart,
the blackbird sings with scratchy needle
plays recording of synagogue beadle

the black will pass as day must night
push, declare, its right and might,
one day the sun will shine again
and soul will sing as lover's swain.