Sanctus

Let the midnight special shine a light on me.
-Creedence Clearwater Revival

The usual insomniac
congregation gathers together.
At the midnight novena,
a white robed altar boy
holds a tall candle.
Wax slithers over his knuckles,
drips from his wrist.
He has a black eye.
Someone's rounded up the bus stops,
and no one leaves. Gargoyles
gnaw on lead pipes.
Their talons scar the cathedral
ledge. The bells have grown
dull. In the distance
the night train whistles
for the conductor to spread
his cobra hood. He coaxes
narcotic music from unpolished
poison trumpets. Mother
Superior offers sunburned
hands. A hallowed fist
unwinds for one last
pagan waltz.