“Upon a trumpet glittering that cries”
—Rainer Maria Rilke
These are the days
he plays alone
in the plaza
where gravel and small
glints of glass shine
in the sun beneath his feet.
His powerful breath
carries the cry of notes.
Music without words.
He fingers the valves
rapidly now for the story
told of that angel
who will one day announce
The End.
This appears in the November 2026 issue of Sojourners
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