the wind swept church

the roof of the old church

has blown off in the harsh
winds

of a brutal winter.
the pews

what's left of them are filled
with pigeons.

they have prayers too,
it seems, to be answered.

the steeple gone,
the altar

turned over. the stained glass
shattered
on the ground.

broken shards
of emerald and ruby,
still catching light.

the path is overgrown where
we walked

and entered the wide arched
doors. me in black, and you
in white,

where we stood and said I do.
making vows
that neither of us were born
to keep.

the long shadows of the late
afternoon,
the ribbons of light

between the trees

falls upon what's left of the old
church.