The incandescence of innocence
clouded in inhalations of smoke;
A narrowing room, a sinking ceiling
fingertips retreating under palms
arms nearer to the heart.
The perfume of death, visions of
musty shores, damp catacombs --
truth tangled inside a stationary tongue,
Hear the voice of God;
feel rapture elevate sound, the hues –
free from an ordinary
feeling.
© 2013
Helena Malheur
