The little feathers at the back of my neck
bristle with electricity as the storm approaches.
These soft fibers of the body
blush at the tenderness in the gaps we finger,
surprised again,
in the armor
we pretend to have.
Until I try to resist
there is no way to wrest
the thoughts of kindness of your face
even as it shines black
with the sin of the world--
casting out evil with a smile.
Death keeps knocking
and inviting us to join the festival of leaving.
Sit here with me and pray for another day
to dance slowly wrapped in the peace
of our protectors.
This cloth is sacred as it unfurls
devout in the winds of constant change.
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