Ride to Glory

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Remember when you came out

red-eyed at midnight to stand in the silver

night, wanting the stillness to break

open into a revelation of light?

You’re not sure, never sure,

about the something greater

buried under the sand of being

like a crab, so you wait for the breathlessness

of a blown-open sky, angels flying

in their Old Testament robes.

Suddenly, a roiling infinity of space

in front of you, and you can finally

let the doubt out of your mouth like smoke.

You need the sky to pass from blue to molten gold—

a backdrop for you to ride to glory

like Elijah did, as the ground below bends

in the distance like an eternity.

You were you, living on roast chicken

and dark wine, but make way now!

You’ve seen the angels, as plain as flies,

so you no longer have to chew

on the dry bread of faith alone.

In the night, when no chariot swoops

down in a burst of dizzying red,

your eyes adjust to the dark,

and you move on, past what appears

in the light, sitting in front of you

like an old man on a weathered bench.

Rain in the garden. The white cloud of her hair.

A friend chopping onions. A handshake

between the sheen of city towers.

You, chasing after things you’re certain

to lose, unaware of the flaming horses

above your head, ready to knock

your mirrors to the floor and take you home.