Saints are hallowed,
but so are the souls,
and the least ones,
wills-o'-the-wisp,
ranged down the
street, glimmering caramel-
orange, greeting bat-
winged, caped walkers
of the night-all searching
to fill an emptiness
they carry with them.

At full light,
a mother counts her
lost ones, remembers
one, puts a taper
to the candle for her
little girl, wandering,
a dancing flame,
all that day
and more.
r.kv.r.y. poetry winter/spring 2007
all saints all souls by Tony Reevy