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.