Bare ruin’d choirs –
By Mary Buchinger
last night
I walked by
my dead
friend’s house
my feet
plowed
the fallen
leaves beneath
the dying
ash words
so many
words he
and I had
dared to
try out
against
indifferent
air –
once I
felt his hand
in mine
in a country
I’ve never
known
we
crossed the
threshold
of an ancient
chapel
its broken
stone pews
frilled with
thistles crows
the ceiling
above us then
there –
an absolute and
unencumbered
blue
Copyright © 2021 by Mary Buchinger.