“This is the hour of the churchyard haze”

Seraphim —after Dzvinia Orlowsky This is the hour of churchyard haze, the slow light of the sun gathered around the heads of saints. Dusk pauses to gather songbirds in a grey sack. I am a sanctuary, razed by fire. The priests being to descend, one by one, to pick through my debris for sins. I…
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