Author: Angela Doll

We pull over at the field towards the church, slip
under wires, clamber over crackled walls.
You wade into a chamber of sun-soaked grass.

“The holy man wanders the forest,
in search of a place he can hear
pine needles drop, and seeds
crack open each spring.’

Where do we go from here?
Where do we turn? I say stay
and watch the hummingbird, buzz the air.

The doors open. The doors close.
Light wanders through.

At least a hundred pieces left,
so we sit for a few minutes tonight
to gather it back,
letting our talk lapse
and our thoughts drift

The death gods do not live here anymore.
Codex after codex left the Mayan shores
for the cities of Europe by whose names
we came to know one relic from another.

“She treasures their golden gift,
mixing herbs to make medicine
for sisters with coughs,
guests with aches,
even the itchy Abbey dog.”

“Sometimes, I lay in my bathtub
in the middle of the human night
let the water cover my nose and mouth
and wait”