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
crumbling headstones,
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.

She sits
Beneath an old oak tree.
Its trunk as wide as she is tall.
Wildflowers bend.
Leaves rustle.
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.
She inhales
an unearthly stillness.
Her nakedness
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”

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