until an hour before the devil fell, God thought him beautiful in heaven

I

The pure in heart need

no lawyers. I never wanted

to be that girl at the party,

drunk and spilling drinks-

they’re all marvelous pretenders.

II

I’ll never stop wishing
I had wings. Why

do you come, yellow bird?

This is a black art,

to change your shape.

III

I am not afraid of death;

there is another judgment

waits us all. Did I

pull heaven down?

I am more afraid of

the things I’ll miss.

IV

I would move somewhere

no one knows my name-

because it is my name, and

I cannot have another in my life.

V

I like to sit in the dark,

I don’t move. I like to simply

sit and be quiet:

Show them a heart of stone

and sink them with it.

VI

Sweet and familiar,

it brings a kind of peace.

The world is white

again.

“This,” he said,

“is beautiful.”

29 September

It’s sunny today.

It seems wrong

as if it ought to be

washed out skies

and rain,

an echo of

the empty space you

left when you

walked away into

red and blue lights.

It’s strange how much

can be bound into

those lights,

how great a change

the shift between

red and blue causes.

These lights bring

a tiger, unchained,

biting at the most

inopportune times,

slashing anyone

foolish enough

to come close,

drawing blood

and tears,

dripping from the tips

of noses while fists

clench empty air and

in desperation

maybe beat the floorboards

until one day

the tiger shrinks

into yellow butterflies

on shoulders,

so light as to be

nearly unnoticeable,

but never quite,

telling a story the same

way a scar does.

This is what I thought

last night when

the lights refused

to stop flashing,

cast a strange

purple glow on the

brown bricks outside and

stirred a panic deep

in my bones, as

my heart strained to pump

the ice my blood

had become.

Frozen to the very

center, I doubt

the thaw will

come anytime soon:

this was always

my greatest fear, and

I keep thinking I

must have seen you, and

did I smile

when we passed?

I should have.

Was my hold

too loose, to let

you slip through?

I walk these halls

now, and it’s

a ghost town,

saturated with

the moments

we missed, and

the ones we’ll

never have,

because you

are gone,

lost somewhere

within the red

and blue

flash-flash-flashing.