Three nuns walk their rosaries at dusk.
Their prayers run ahead like small dogs tethered
to wrists and palms. The beads glow
phosphorescent, like forest stars.
Even the faceless dress has flushed:
all of the subtleties in flame and heat.
Woman as apparition. Cello. A conch cut open.
A pagoda. A firecracker. An orange peeled back.
Windswept leaves become angel wings
at sunset during a summer storm.
The nine skirts ripple out and away:
a pebble on water or Dante’s rings.