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,

lavender

sunsets

feigning absolution.

Striding past the vacant church, I sense

no prophesy, no visions, no dreams,

when porridged air clogs pores and alveolar macrophage.

Not tonight.

I hear souped-up coupes racing somewhere close;