Radiance Angelina Petro
There’s a way of getting the pillow just right
behind my head, and my socks cannot be falling
down to my ankles if I am to sleep.
Is it true a song hums just behind/within everything we see?
I bend to listen to a gardenia, and laugh.
As I drive, repeating five holy words, the rain pulls my car
ahead, along the road.
Somewhere, someone gets up from the back row
of a church, and walks for miles, lost, towards home.
I know everything matters in such a way as to not.
The song keeps flowing. The words–audible light.
And the rain lifts its silver curtains, and the moon appears
making the wet road shine.
Someday, I will awaken, and step in from the crowd,
and follow your voice to where my prayer shawl waits,
draped over the living room chair.
Until then, I will adjust the pillow, pull up my socks,
and drift to sleep.