chagall backdrop

Platinum light,
hurtles through the ancient bristlecone pines,
an iris there at the crowning,
an earthbound star, misted in droplets.

The whispers of the gods
bellow the flame at the core of the foundry.

Saints huddle there in the clearing,
stare blind into the aperture,
immersed in the source of divinity,
spirited away by hemoglobin.

The light instantly incinerates mortal infiltrators,
safeguards the ranks,
to assure only the holiest walk among us.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013