The dark like a great church
arched its stained-glass window
the sky,
A catheral dressed in the
twilight of aching blues,
wistfully fleeing pink and
red, below the final glorious rays
of fading gold and at the peak,
shyly the first silent kiss
of a star.
The star was a frozen cry,
The star was the rejoicing bell made visible, a swelling chorus,
an enchanted note, luminous, suspended.
Out of the mounting dark a bird
leapt in white glory upward,
its fragile wings spread willingly,
the blue of dusk haunting its feathers,
lifting upward an answering song
and melting among the silver radiance
voice and soul of its destiny.