Churches

1

There are no stars.
Down the street
a wizard's hat of dusty light
fills with children.

2

On the wrought iron fence, green
paint has broken out in buds
of rust. In there, morning glories
suck their blue trumpets
into puckered mouths and tight little fists
under a drizzle of coal dust.

They will breathe again on the far side of sleep.

 

© George Amabile