Ongoing Poem by Joe Bisicchia

Tilts, the angel statue due east awaiting the sun.
Cold the night far and immense beyond the canticle
somewhere in the distance, even way over the landfill.

This is tough land, and the cement angel is worn.
And maybe so are we, though new.
Bare the bones ours, a rib cage embracing

this nest, ours, despite cold and exposed,
this place from which soon we shall fly
and to home again find this tree, soon green, ours.

But for now, cold the night, and the buds are tight.

Stars undress their souls, and despite the otherwise
vast darkness, the sun revels in the nimbus
and there is a halo effect that truly can affect the tree.

For there is a winning way with this leaning angel,
handsome despite the ongoing wear of the sky,
with apparent magnificence in the repetitions.

The sparse light lands upon the angel's open hands,
and at sunrise, yet again, it seems our sky expands.

We live in a big, big place beyond time and space.
So much in life is learned, and we make plans.
We get in line upon the branch.




Published in Mannequin Haus, Issue 9,2017