Martyrs

Look how pretty the muted world

In soft colors collapsing.

Hear how silent the burning moon

In pale ashes falling.

Worshipers trudge through dormant night.

The waking city drowns in saintly cinders.

By lamplight, angels die in droves, but

Look see their footprints stamped upon it all.

And no one is forgetting, but the grateful living,

Dazzled, watch from kitchen windows,

As sacrifices rain upon the earth.

Taste how sweet the taste of love,

The sacrament of righteous ashes,

Lighting on the lonely surface

Of a quickly fading planet,

Lighting, like candles, and each flake

Burning iridescent under the swooning lamps.

And see how happy the little girl

In hat and mittens smiling.

Hear how joyful she giggles and catches

A snowflake upon her tongue.