The bright winter sky is dappled with high clouds
The color of butter.
The light and shadow play across the landscape,
Light then dark,
A dark shadow comes across my brow
And the grief returns to my heart.
Though our lintel was marked
With lambs blood,
Blessed with prayer,
Adorned with mirrors,
The dark angel still came.
Her beauty, awful,
As she sat at our table
And the losses became un-countable.
I wonder still when she will return,
Because, oh yes, she will return.
Or perhaps, she is just
Sitting on my porch step
Waiting for another shadow to form.
My face again is in sunlight-
The dappled clouds moving away from the sun,
Casting shadows on the winter landscape
Bright in the buttermilk sky.