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previously published in Ambit,
179, 2005
Beyond
Blue
There is no
night, but in this winter sun
a bat is
flickering; between trees, into the
clearing
and out
again.
A small hole in
this blue.
There is a sound
like the rushing of souls,
too many to
count, all passing on one breath.
They turn, the
white vapour of their sighing
breaks the sky
open.
It is this blue
mantle, his mother’s apron that she
folds
and
refolds.
Where the ember
landed there is one small hole.
There is no
darning it, she holds it up to the
light.
There are two
bats up among the angels,
moving as the
music moves, the violin’s staccato,
beating
time.
Around and
around
they fly until
everyone is watching, breathless.
A church full of
upturned faces.
The great wings
of angels spread out;
splinters float
down like feathers, bolts creak.
When the music
is
over,
they will be
gone -
there will be a
great noise of wings and the roof
will
lift.
The whole sky
will fall in.
Jenny
Vuglar
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