Patrick Cusick McKay Jr.
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She sings in dark hours,
Where prospect lurks,
Ahead of creeping death…
In bleached white churches,
On green-grassed roads,
With sons and daughters full of songs.
Grandmothers in hooked arms with old men.
Babies, blind, embraced by reaching hands;
By fingers of sun and refracted lightness.
A word traverses the aisle
In a reverberant color:
"Love thy neighbor…"
In houses with stiff air and unpainted walls,
Where young children sit alone,
Enamored and entertained with images
Of virtual realities and personas - not...