Porch Talk with the Lord

Angels Carrying the Holy Cross and Shroud, Unknown Artist

Nostalgic for those days of wrath,
tenderness be gone, he said,

as celluloid brought us up to speed,
and fabulous stars once immune

to floods, flames, and critics words,
buried their faces in both hands.

While the world was fast asleep,
eyelids fluttering like wings of gulls

perverted by the wind, he asked
if there was a better way for him

to show his love, then let them think
they’re wide-awake dying in their sleep.

It was then, I heard the kettle’s psalm,
comfort’s steaming pour, and waded

through those ancient reels
up to my knees in glory.