Isaac Seal

For Our Lady of Fatima

There is a singular point in time
in a wash of empty
One lively second we were sitting
kind of laying
The minutes had no
particular orchestration
method or will
There was a chair I swore the universe sat in
My jeans were blood-spotted
it brought me back
to the next
We had places and things
solubility
the familiar clipped coupon ache
February in our skulls
drawing tighter down the alleys
gasping and reaching
My hand pulses hot and swollen around flickering,

papered glass
I think about blood clots
the maddening itch of insects
suffer pitch and steam heat
One candle burned for salvation
You're out there too
with all of the things I can't let go of
I knew by the radius of light on the ceiling
I had the shadows of Fatima
dancing cygnet arcs
on the pond above me, ripples
A quieting snow
hushes the eaves their duress
I would not hear you return if you did



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