She Said, Look Out the Window More for the Real Miracle

On the other side of the pain, I have

Stared at the crabapple's branches, skeletal fingers

Finding more December window-dressing

The day's appointed epistle

Wondering what my ashes will feel

In the garden elbowing worms

Aside no stained glass

Work's windows towering over urbanscape

Don't cast aspersions (yes, asperges me,

Domine) on the rusted rivets I bow

Before each morning in the solemn Garage of Go Get 'Em

The real miracle is that glass stains at

All and we don't for long scrubbed by time

Memory's slippery polish still

Yet still