Window Dressing

The day after sin sits
frozen, off yellow wax
staining the otherwise blue.
If it weren't for the light
of the Empty Tomb,
you'd think it ruined,
but as the window seat glass
reflects the wondering face
above approaching city lamps,
a whisper of angels
numbers a current of prayers,
circling in the air draft,
posting the eternal ETA
of our forgiveness
and future.

Far from home,
going home,
the jammed seats
face forward to a welcome
landing, the trained to be friendly
personnel assure us
the gravity we just defied
bears no grudge,
and the first steps we take
in the new, will much resemble
our last, dignified
by hope.