ALARMING BEAUTY OF THE SKY, THE

The Train Bearer

63 TheTrain Bearer I hear the march begin and see the bride Ascend the concrete steps, her frothy train Like water flowing up a mountainside, Pursuing her; an eerie, rising rain, Sucked from the doorway’s threshold to the eaves— A spill of blood pulled back inside the vein. Out here, a sycamore is dropping leaves. They’re drifting down to earth like scarecrow gloves, And clouds have rolled across the sky in sleeves That magically produce a flock of doves. The roots have pushed the sidewalk full of cracks, And I am wondering if she fears or loves The man inside. I smell the candle wax. The sickly glow transforms her brilliant lace, And plaster saints stare down from wooden racks. The groom prepares to take the father’s place. ...