The saints become silent
and the angels freeze.
Alone before dawn
I feel nothing or no one divine.
Only my broken friend, fear,
lingers like an old dog.
At times like this
whom else can I count on?
In the darkness, I am a sieve,
holding neither courage nor love.
I wrap myself in a cocoon of blankets
trying to pool what is left.
If only I could remember daybreak
and how the holy ones assemble about me,
a fluid, traveling wreath,
gently coaxing this wisp out of hiding.