Richard T. Rauch lives along Bayou Lacombe in southeast Louisiana. Rick manages rocket propulsion test projects at NASA’s Stennis Space Center by day and writes by night. His poetry has recently appeared in Neologism, Plainsongs, Steam Ticket, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and Wimperbang.
Archangels descend in glorious white,
swinging their hips for us with a vengeance.
We find ourselves dumbstruck, trembling, prostrate
with fear. Our tears stream and puddle¾the warmth
of our sudden lamentations, a mixed blessing
to those of us backsliding on thin ice,
too far from the silver linings of the shoreline.
We are shivering silhouettes, transfixed
by frozen starbursts of growling cracks
melting against us, radiating away.
“Where are the gilded wings to lift us?” we ask.
We grow weary of speculation. Our shivering stops.
Our last image, an icy-blue halo,
as we gasp the numbing waters at last.
for a while.
a wish of why,
is the way
world on which