Dr. Quigley Walked the Streets
2013 December 10
Two suicides in one season 
and Dr. Quiqley walked the streets in vain.
A poetry for this does not exist.
He watched the snow begin to fall,
large wisps that tapered off into fog,
soft pebbles of light in the 21st century.
If only you were born in a nearby star!
If only you were a message from God,
manna from another universe,
or this one. He did not care.
Anything other than the memory of death.
He remembered making snow angels
in the fading light of a winter sky,
and as his breath deepened
into clouds, he could see angels rise
from their places in the landscape
and rise toward heaven,
somehow never to touch a flake of snow.
The chips are down today
but as usual, his spirit was high:
Time to take what comes,
time to find the place where the sky
fades into heaven.
It’s existential.
No one knows how deep to go
until it is time.
What line can be traced back into faith?
The angles are secret words
written across the fallen snow.
They leave us every day,
even when we want them to stay.
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