Doxology
By C. Tompkins

That night, a star fell.
And afterwards coal mines closed
Their yawning mouths to the tune of Ave Maria.
We poured concrete in the lawn and looked up,
citing the cold

Before mathematics showed us how
buckets of nails dangled down
ready to tip and shower
us like bright, tiny sparks.

In the time it took you to answer me
Whole continents drifted apart.
I stood balanced in skin,
trying to remember you
to that old song that went world without end.

And we said goodnight, keys in
hand, too drunk not to drive
Too proud and stubborn to wait,
face planted in the lawn
watching insects dance and mourn
as ships found passage to the west.

And after The Enlightenment
bears still hibernated, deep and away.
And the sparrows, their worth
growing every day.
And we wondered
who would leave
who would be left.

And we moved through cities
taking pictures
day-dreaming of empires

Singing
world without end,

dead already

and alive again.

Prose artist Curtis Tompkins lives and writes in the Allegheny Highlands of western Maryland.  His prose, poetry, and reviews have appeared most recently in The Broadkill Review, Review Revue, and Backbone Mountain Review.  He is also editor for three online magazines for an independent New York publisher, including a magazine dedicated to emerging and established authors (americanfiction.org).

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