In the Garden of Headless Angels

Walk with me-

we are frequent visitors

of the Garden of Headless Angels,

we only count time

with each other

by the numbers of faceless watches

We measure the depth

of our love

in bottomless caves

where unknown things

were catalogued alive

by explorers long-dead.

A moonless night cannot

possibly contain my desire

for your company;

a rainless summer would

burn us into another life.

We lit candles to Vanushka

but forgot how to read

her response. We challenged

the indifferent gods-

we said, “ok, sure

teach me now about love,”

and laughing, they sent you

me; and lent you, to my

afternoons but not my nights.

Walk with me.

There is much yet to say,

and headless angels cannot

repeat what words we choose

on moonless strolls;

watches can tell any time

we want if they have

no numbers. As with the depths

of caves, the depth

of my desire for you.

 

Author's Note

translated from my original in Spanish 2/13/2020

references:

"garden of headless angels" refers to our city's eerie gothic cemetery, where vandals have destroyed the majority of the stone angel statues by removing their heads. In the same cemetery, the body of the woman "Vanushka" is buried, where people unlucky in love light candles to remember her tragic story and say a prayer for guidance in love.

Reviews

[Paul Bell]

A grave with no heads but bodies in abundance.
It's got to be a busy cemetery cos love is always unlucky at some point.
I quite like the idea of love guidance coming from below, especially from Vanushka, who knew a thing or two about love. Great poem.