God in the Vulgate

— Jerry Dyer

I make my way to the evening window,
where moonlight beaches itself upon the glass.
She always claimed I was begotten of the moon.

When we were young, we’d watch
the Perseids fall together,
life in the sky so brilliant and brief.

We’d lay our beach towels on the dewy grass,
and watch heaven rain down fire,
etching its vastness before our eyes.

She lived her whole life listening to god
in the vulgate.  Then she would translate,
in that voice that sometimes made the dishes jump.

The Perseids are falling again tonight.
I’d swear that I can feel their heat
drifting down to me through years of sky.

I’m old enough, she began saying late last fall,
where I just might be brave enough
to close my eyes and sleep.

I can hear crickets in the windless calm.
Their chirping tells us, quite exactly,
the temperature of the air.

 

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s