A Rushing Mighty Wind
“…in the last days…I will pour out of my Spirit upon all
flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and
your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall
dream dreams.” Holy Bible, King James Version, Acts 2:17
While I walk in the cemetery cradling my newborn,
night smog turns green in the glow of the city.
Vaulted skies inverted, what seemed the earth’s ceiling
topples into our lungs. She trembles a bit, and I feel
helpless. I knew I would yell and threaten her,
but I did not know
I would suffocate her.
Impenetrable, the air filters sun and stars.
Orange days turn into red,
Striding past the vacant church, I sense
no prophesy, no visions, no dreams,
when porridged air clogs pores and alveolar macrophage.
I hear souped-up coupes racing somewhere close;