In prayerfold the nuns increase God,
exactly huddling corners of the cold
in poppy quiet. Mothermary eyes
are full of floor. Angelic bottoms
bowbent caress creation blanketly.
Outside the nunnery,
tombing goes on in spite of orison.
Animal bus in light of twi,
its sudden snout considering a stop
or surging chug, moody nimbus haloing
potholes and frozen frit. Forlorning leaves
of trees in winterly precision
undance the summer. Stores front
uncherished dress in sullen still repeat.
Far somewhere on prairie the flow of snakes,
bobcats and winter wolves in full devour.
Inside the nunnery cowling nuns,
threnodic, black, arranged, Nirvana-numb--
outside, cement geography,
the haunches of old Buicks,
and choice of Cadillacs for tomb travel.
Ben Passikoff is a retired engineer. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including The Quarterly Review of Literature, The Atlanta Review, Harvard Review, Sarah Lawrence Review, The Texas Review, Literal Latte, and Orbis. His pursuits are poetry and survival.
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