Heaven

She wore flags at half mast,
enveloping stiff,
starched cotton...
no longer a silken caressed
strand of secreted fiber

abrading delicate tissue
by the breeze nuzzling
sensitive hair of her skin
to move her flesh
the tiniest
flash of charge.

Brass, magnetized.
St Catherines Street polarized,
forever atheist of humanization.
An apparition on her knees
solidity passing through and beyond

And she cries as the moon howls
a keen pitch of silent ripples
glistening black, silent in reflection
deeper than you have ever thought
to reflect…

before the sun rose,
an evaporation of particles,
ionized whispers
of heaven.