Matthew 6:28—Sonnets
By Kyle Okeke
Two doors in the snow:
two men in
excess. Beauty, they
restrain, like
a grave. Its ghost, cold
and falling.
I was looking for
meaning, too.
I found a sidewalk:
more doors laid
like planks. A vulture
starving for
light, I found a knife
I sank in-
to the white, soft wage:
an angel
carved in his image.
Arrested
by the path, knife wet
with glimmer,
weapon left in snow—
I felt his
chest like a trapdoor.
The inmates
carry themselves up
in bouquets.
In the closets, fields
of lilies.
