Poetry 365: Afterwards

The office towers
seem waist deep in sparkling snow.
Last year's coat struggles.

Poetry 365: Rise

Marvin has stolen the bishop's robes.
His hair sticks out of the hat
like a raven in the snow.
He talks in his sleep.

I will find myself in a cramped heaven
where there will be no space to raise my arms.
I will sing softly, hymns of new invention,
and I will eat and breathe the light.