by Susan L. Francino
How to say this?
You observe that the rooftop sparkles with frost in the morning—
indeed, shines like a multitude of stars.
What you do not realize is that this is so
because all night long
it has been face-to-face with the night sky.
What would happen to you
if for the entirety of the long night
you gazed into the face of celestial beauty?
What happens to the rooftop
is that she becomes like
to that which she adores.
And in the morning,
unbeknownst to hard-grained sand
and rough tar seams,
she is herself become a second heaven.
You observe that the rooftop sparkles with frost in the morning—
indeed, shines like a multitude of stars.
What you do not realize is that this is so
because all night long
it has been face-to-face with the night sky.
What would happen to you
if for the entirety of the long night
you gazed into the face of celestial beauty?
What happens to the rooftop
is that she becomes like
to that which she adores.
And in the morning,
unbeknownst to hard-grained sand
and rough tar seams,
she is herself become a second heaven.
Susan Francino holds an MFA in Poetry from Seattle Pacific University and is a PhD candidate at the University of Notre Dame in Liturgical Studies. Her poems and translations have appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Ekstasis, and St. Katherine Review.