The Girl in the Red Coat

The coat was long (to the ankles) and red        
like the flame that burns bright in a young heart,
or a sun rising on the longest day
of the year.  Where are you going my girl,
so full of yourself, no room left for fear?

You fly the coop to follow heart-shaped dreams
in the year of maxi-coats and Marlboros,
black convertibles and tall lace-up boots.
Pies in the skies high, you chase frozen sun
on silver wings till there is no darkness—

for a time.   But the coat, like fading light,
you toss to the floor of night; and the days
get shorter (so do the coats, I might add).
The sun barely gets up in the morning
and the sounds of disco drums pale away.

Sunset lies down to rest for the longest
night of the year, sprinkling pearl pink ashes
across its glacial path.  The girl, empty
of herself, flies on wings of angels.  She
wears a robe, long (to the ankles) and white.