Sacred

(Poem by Wendy Howe )
see also the french version

I want to lace my head and neck
with raindrops, make my profile
gleam with the intensity

of a day Autumn still owns
from ten years back. Remember
how moments fell shaping
moisture into luminous spires
and chestnut leaves that lined
the street like leather soles

our hands pulled on hoping
to pad footsteps of commitment
we had not yet taken.

That day Paris was wet.
Fear's cold perspiration
rinsed the air but we risked
the mood standing so our arms

chain-linked hope. I thought
our lives would clasp time
ageless, let street lamps burn

throughout the night and bless
dawn's white throat
with fire church candles
envied Our breath exhilarated

could have lit sidewalk corners
and altars more powerfully
than wax or prayer. We became
beaded cells of a dream

I still entwine
around hair and skin
every time rain

cools the doorway and saints
pass through the keyhole
        of November.

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