A crimson window framed in black and white
that cracks the slate of Februaryâ€™s sky
lets in a ray of rectifying light
to startle from their sleep the passersby.
What is this great and ghoulish valentine
from which the ruins of a cupid cry
a sanguinary seasonâ€™s wish? â€śBe mine,â€ť
the ruddy little body seems to sigh.
Can we still walk in shadow past a place
where lust pays brutal avarice to kill,
and see unmoved a butchered cherubâ€™s face
outside this latest dark satanic mill?
Or has the crimson sign held in the light
turned Februaryâ€™s gray to black-and-white?
Mark Amorose lives in Mesa, Arizona, with his wife, Maria, and their six children. He teaches humane letters and poetry at Tempe Preparatory Academy.