nevering

the angels sing....

In the dark church
the angels are singing vespers
against the candle-lit gloom
and the tiny organ thrums the dark sound
as sweet as black treacle poured into a baby's mouth.

The dark sweet baby is a church of dreams,
it gets cradled against the candle-lit singing,
and makes the sound of angels
as if singing could be all that this abandoned building
needs to hold itself up and against the world
keep its mouth thrumming.

posted by Cathy @ 10:30 PM