Above Our Sleeping Heads
Joe Moccia
The night has hands
but daylight can touch.
We dream the dark away and
we don't stir so much.
Carrion dreams pile forth
and breathe the north wind bells,
sweating sage and saints and rhythm.
Hymns hued in red and gold
that alight
align and are lost
in heaven we never know,
sung for what love we give them.
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