Wednesday, March 30, 2022

Saints

I hesitate 

      but make myself do it.


I place my ear on your pillow

     at 8:32 PM,


the exact moment 

     of your ascent 


a year ago tonight.

     Yes––ascent––a propulsion


I listen for. 

     A gust of wind 


lifting lifting lifting 

     your wholeness


––mustache and thick curls, 

     perfect teeth, long legs––and, of course 


your bel canto trumpet,

     setting your completeness 


down onto the 

     unendingness


of saints marching in, 

     of brass bands 


and beautiful solos, 

     your trumpet blaring, 


your cuff links 

       gleaming. 


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