Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 20

I walked past the house of candles

that tells us to think dutifully of light,

to search the spreading night with blue

flames, to find warmth for the feverish

words that tug within. I saw a magician

looking around in front of the store with

a small group closing the day with laughter

given by tricks. on the faces of the candle

buyers you could see a curtain gently part

to disclose bells ringing above their heads

sounds of kindness. I stare up the street to

the place that makes us bend our heads real

low, where the silence received another son,

and the Great Will that pines for the loud world

has not yet come. tonight, I care about our

weeping, not the sun, the moon, the stars, the

deep sea, the mountains forested in green. I

light candles for the most loved, the lost, the

mothers weary of sleep, the beautiful brown

faces not yet born that will walk this way some

day. I will stand still now with the candle in

my hand praying for the tiny flame to lift our

spirits high above the thinning air for a taste

of peace.