a favorite child of the angels
barefoot , pure .
The morning dew in her hair
she was loved in real time
she wrapped herself in quiet
she heard the murmurs of
the past .
Beset by doubt
she carried the prayers
of the ages
black nights without hope
hunting for the song hidden
in the twilight
she closed the Shutters
over the windows of her
heart
those of us who breathe
in liberty with our
first breath
don’t know what it is
like to be enslaved
she wasn’t even allowed
the luxury of introspection.
Cemetery hill was flooded .
She was counting to zero
down a road to nowhere
with nothing in sight
sunrise stretched the
shadows like broken yesterdays
trampling the morning,
looking ;
to nurture her prayers or
capture her heart .