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Sunday in Autumn
the moment belongs to death
in an ordering pose
the inaccessible rooms of elderly men,
the frozen homeless,
caretakers and tourists passing by.
you alone are holy
the small girl in red-checkered pants keeps no secrets,
conceals nothing
it takes you longer to arrive here,
like thunder
to my lightning
here again in the hard rain
acrobatic thought
my blood pools around my feet as I die standing,
“concordia,” you say, “shhhh”
finger points to nose
“walk with God.”
my Jonah, my Job,
my Isaac,
bound & burning.
I didn’t even have to try–
flint gave way to spark
gave way to flame
you pen your name in strange calligraphy
black ink spills Rorschach
spells Sara,
spells Mary.
Sunlight passes through the window
forming a shadow cross on the carpet
you lie down and spread your arms wide


Robert T. Krantz was born and raised in Western New York. He studied
creative writing and English Literature at both Niagara County Community
College, NY and the University of Akron, Ohio. Robert also published a chap
book of poetry and prose entitled Leg Brace Legato (2013). His work has
appeared in Akros Literary Review, Bare Fiction, Bitterzoet, the East Coast
Literary Review, Poetry Quarterly and the Watershed Review.

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