Two Poems

 

Untitled

the orange glow
of a street lamp
off the drizzling surface
of an endless sea
of pavement
pays homage
to a Rothko piece
or the fading memory
of a sun
seen
through closed eyes

 

Strange Angel

Kneeling
on the dusty cellar floor
I watch her
guiding sinewy line
through a needle's
unblinking eye

The martyrs
all twitching, crucified
She's driven
the pins through the fluttering hearts
of flies and moths

What strange angel
tears the wings from baser things
still guided by a light

What strange breed
of ambition and envy
stitches the seams
between a hundred thousand wings
forging
a pair that she bears
as her own

Ascending
into flight
she circles the light
as the flies and moths look on