Le rouge et le noir

We call the night black, but it is only a smudging of the light
A dulling of all that shines
And burns beyond.

The opposite of black is the song of the robin
The lifting and opening of the tiny beak
And the breeze that ruffles the feathers on his breast.

Dans le va et le vient
We watch the girls walk into the church on Santa Lucia's day
And the one who wears a crown of precarious candles.

Lucia's dark sister is merciless
She pulls at our sleeves, points through lit windows
At the trees shaking themselves down for the season.

Scents of cinnamon and orange greet us in the doorway
But the flames are already licking at the side of the house
And we dare not stay within.

Voice le rouge et le noir
The tail lights of the cars smearing on the wet street
And us, wondering.