Our Souls Will Rise

By Tatiana Mezitis

two februarys pass through a 
pensive mind, a head
shrouded white 
with lace 
 
as a single lilac 
 
and it is all at once
marble, too
transfixed and bowed to rest 
in temples which stand here, awash in sunlight, 
while our casts rest solid 
 
awaiting the two-toned press of night.
we, sentries, watch for a sign 
that there will come an after
that we will exist someplace beyond
 
this
 
oh, to kneel at your altar!
as clouds pass behind your head
it will feel summer again
every bit as cotton and dust and dollar bills
as july in your arms was 
 
oh, to sing your praises to a hillside deaf 
and to blow an eyelash away
with the wish that it’ll rise, taking our souls 
to coast on a golden summer wind
for miles of lake and light