Haiku
Fran Weissenberg

Our hidden chapel
 Stands atop a desert hill
Guarding her neighbors.

 Oh, chapel, chapel
Quiet my sad heart, my tears
Angel de la Guarda

From my front window
I look out at San Pedro
My heart is lifted.

The chapel's memories
Fill the space with sad shadows
Deconsecrated.

The sweet-scented air
Hangs in delicate shapes
We bow our heads low.

Acknowledgements

Bill Plapp. I used the word, de-consecrated because it was descriptive of the history of the chapel.

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