Our Haloes   On the day that we gave ourselves haloes our smiles were broad, bright, blinding, and we knew that we were right. We watched as the sun rose to perpetual noon, and in virtue of our peerage we raised a glass or two.   On the night that we gave up our haloes the moonlight shone on snow like windowpanes and we wandered lost while the heavens froze into useless constellations — we named them, breathed their names, remembered why we came.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont January 2017