Holy

Steel strings cry,
the baby is cradled.

Once on the highway
a beat,

a runaway truck
a turbulent downgrade.

A covering tarp
is flapping a rhythm

akin to a howl
in a storm

or thunder
parting grey clouds

for a moment of sun
as a bridge

or a passage that leads
to a new phase of life

a place where one ponders
the movement of stars

like a long strand of pearls
ripped from the neck

rolling like tears
or prayers from a rosary.