Above Ground

How sharp and white the stars
biding above the church’s spire,
a sky packed with signs,
and the freezing dark now a night
that would end finally well.

We were saved from coal-black
caverns of waiting, from the shadow
we had always seen,
and relief soared in my ribs,
darted like a swallow, giddy.

It was the best time,
and we didn’t know that
it would be our last good time.
The news of the tunnels—
word that we’d whispered

from one huddled shoulder
to the next like a current,
like warmth—was wrong, and after
a few more breathless hours
we would know we lost it all.