Bridget Gage-Dixon

B r i d g e t  G a g e - D i x o n

Love, like darkness

Stumbles into corners,

obscures both chance and chaos.

Come in, it whispers,

and you do, you enter it as you

might enter a church,

cross the hallowed threshold,

press your knees against a warping kneeler

and pray to your own specter.

A ragged moon hangs above the steeple,

through stained glass you see it shimmer.

You feel sure this must be god. It isn’t.

It will be years before you know this,

before you unfold your hands,

find only fistful of shadows.

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