The Burnt Angel
Following the jesus of absence,
flying on the defunct
will the angel come again
when the moon walks through the pines
or under the yolk of sun
frying unbroken above, or
on the dancing floor
where flying leaves have one last waltz
before they're dirt and leaves no more?
Will the tongue
that was a biting worm
push deep into the shifting worlds
to eat the wide silence
of the last legends ever heard?
How will the hands
that broke down stone by stone
each road and arch, bricked bridge and hall
pile up that rampart place at last
without rafter or wall?
The icewind says nothing
in her bully brief run;
nothing to the questions
the coming dark
asks the sun.
Pegasus flies, but
posted for real toads
Kerry's Weekend Challenge: In Other Words
Kerry O'Connor has been doing a series of prompts focusing on word replacement in the titles of various works. This week she turns us towards some Christmas-oriented titles--yes, this is about Christmas, of the hedgewitchian kind. I have been out of action for awhile, but couldn't miss Kerry's last prompt of the year.
Image: Pegasus, by Wojciech Siudmak
Fair use via wikiart.org