by D. W. Golden

Go to bed before your usual time
crawl there on your knees and
just before sleep, speak out loud

God inexplicably, that red bird
appeared again before me today
right before your loaded shadows
sunk their spurs into twilight

In these indefatigable days, I ask,
are angels even an afterthought,
When I turn off the bedside lamp,
from somewhere comes still some light

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D. W. Golden is the grateful product of an Armed Forces upbringing: born in England by way of a Floridian father and British mother, and was also able to spend his high school years in the U.K. Naturally, and/or consequently, over the course of time, residences have been plentiful, and he now presently lives in Alabama. His poetry has appeared in literary journals, both paper & online, such as “Aura,” “bear creek haiku,” “freefall,” “Proletaria,” “Ship of Fools,” and “The Weekly Avocet,” and he has been able to release a few chapbooks from time to time. He would also like to add that it has been—as much as possible—his eternal quest to adhere to the Christian principle, with God’s help, of just being simply simpler in all things.