The light through the glass cross opening on
His April of persistence, the old man
Stared toward the altar of an empty church.
Why with the melting frost in his hair had
He watched the blood boil on the kettle
Whistling like the distance between him and
His wife? Why had he poured it out over
The separate teabags in separate cups to
Let them steep in their own loneliness? Why
Place the cups on separate table ends to
Grow ice cold while he stood staring out the
Window at the golden light watching the
Winter grow short and cold? And why now in
The cathedral does he contemplate God?
therichardbraxton 