We have sunlight to keep us from sleep, but we take
candles in glass and set them around cut logs
from seasons when cold was sufficient. Squirrels
beg light like seed spread along pottery.
Day- and candlelight compete as our imaginary
bear raises her snout to the fragrance of French linen.
The raccoon stiffens in burial among moss.
We pattern it like a lamp that once swung
across heavens, as if it were a sanctuary.
We fear wounds and know doves will
fly to us for food as we walk from glass
to glass and blow. By then all light will
end, and we will hold hands so as not
to slip on the logs that brace our souls.
He is in the niche across from the painting
that says I want to be stolen and sold
for firewood. She rests in the pew
and scratches love letters in the shellac.
Several have found the pain of kneeling
calming in the presence of desire, gold-plated
and on sale in the gift shop. One is leaving
the empty confessional and cannot accept mercy.
I see others running toward the lawn,
cutting their toes on the mower blade.
They scrape the fence and seek balm
to salve the sting. Many choose
to string beads and mark thoughts
to fingerings that float from light
to sorrow to joy, uncertain where each begins
or how to stop this revolve inside ourselves.
About the Poet
Jan Wiezorek has taught writing at St. Augustine College, Chicago, and his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming at The London Magazine, Southern Pacific Review, Scarlet Leaf Review, Bindweed Magazine, Literary Juice, Elsewhere, FIVE:2:ONE, Random Sample, Squawk Back, Tuck Magazine, Panoplyzine, Better Than Starbucks, and Schuylkill Valley Journal. He is author of Awesome Art Projects That Spark Super Writing (Scholastic, 2011) and holds a master’s degree in English Composition/Writing from Northeastern Illinois University, Chicago. Visit him at janwiezorek.weebly.com.