by Nina P. Honorat
There will be a reckoning.
A door swung open from
which a thousand moths will flutter.
Silence sharpened in depth-
word of mouth, exhausted.
Flock of fallen angels
rummaging through
paper thin omens for the next apocalypse.
Howl-hurled prayer,
mocking-bird-song.
— from Juniper Volume 4, Issue 1