You Came Across It And Lost It

By Jennifer Greene

Plum moon, opaque under mist

spins above the church steeple.

Through a stained glass of grief,

a one way conversation.


Ave Maria.

Mistranslated in prayer. 

I hear thy name hallowed. 

Spires in memories. 

Flying buttresses, everything 

reminds me of you. 

I lose faith, these blurred nights. 

She sits behind the velvet curtain of 

my backstage recollection, waiting. 

A moon misted and hovering over my holy house.

In memoriam, her.

Credit: Getty Images/ David Wall