There’s a tusk-white dress

hanging by a thread,

tied up to the rafters,

waiting only for you.

would you reach into my fervent fire?

we sang the same words as our

mothers

aunts

& grandmothers

standing on the corner of Burnside & 23rd,

the tears trapped on my eyelashes

form rainbowed halos

in the presence of unfamiliar sunlight.

a formless figure

a bloody specter

wine glass filled with rain

“this calls for something special”

a record was unearthed 

from its cardboard sleeve

placed upon a porcelain platter

Descending from the heavens

like born-again bats,

we held tight to what we knew best

and let the rest of the world fly by.