right hand pointing

Rain and weeds, park

empty except for a man

 

in blue shorts, strange

white birds skimming

 

puddles, undisturbed by

the noise of dogs. They

 

say if you walk alone,

an angel might whisper

 

to you, but what if

she lay tangled

 

in someone’s hair?  

What song could bring

 

you back to light?

Beneath your feet,

 

rivers churn downward

toward a flaming core.