Vigil

“… every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.”

~ John Donne, “A Nocturnal Upon St. Lucy’s Day”

O loves, o little ones, tonight
we see the sliver of a moon—

impeccable stain of milk
on saucer’s rim,

last tapering cursive
letter on the slate—

and as the dark speeds up
some more into the deeper dark,

Orion’s belt floats high
above our heavy hearts:

O sorrow, you
have changed us all—

 

In response to Via Negativa: Nocturne.

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