A trail of Latino men and women

walking on a December night,

open bibles in their hands,

they follow a black pick-up truck,

its bed filled with red and white roses, carnations.

In the center a weathered cardboard portrait

of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

They are singing hymns

to the Virgin of the Apocalypse.

It’s Christmas and the hope

for warmth and faith

issues ghosts from their mouths.