In The Arms of The Angel
by Candace Turner
As a pale yellow sun floats on the horizon
Shadow of last night’s moon lingers.
Mindful not to tread on
whomever lies beneath
she walks, barefoot, along a
well-worn dirt path to the clearing
behind the old cemetery.
Mingled with the sounds of night
the sky announces days beginning.
Beneath an old oak tree.
Its trunk as wide as she is tall.
He’s closer now
Their fingers tangle.
Release the red ribbon
in her long black hair.
Curls tumble to white bare shoulders.
Green eyes closed.
an unearthly stillness.
cocooned in angel wings.
In the Arms of the Angel … Sarah McLachlan
Written in response to a line by Marcel Aime Duclos,
“Mingle with the sounds of night”