18 April 2012


   The sky is still deep dark
   When pinpoints of people, like stars,
   One by one, in quiet procession,
   Precede the dawn.
   White hot Vega gazes down from overhead,
   And Arcturus shepherds us into a circle
   Around the slight spark,
   And now a fire, rising from Good Friday.

   When the bonfire roars, a bright blindness
   Transfixes our eyes, and flames,
    Rise still higher
   Until they cast a golden crown around
   Every face there.

   In that moment, I see no bodies
   Or fine clothes, or Easter bonnets,
   For they are still hidden in the darkness,
   Buried with the rest of our worries
   And evening pains, and Saturday graves.

   I see only faces, beautiful icons
   Glistening in resurrection glory,
   In moist anticipation of baptism,
   Just before sunrise.

   It is the only time we can ever look
    Directly at the sun,
   When it is on the horizon,
   At the edge,
   Of something new.              


1 comment:

  1. I'm not sure how I ended up reading this poem today, but it's incredibly resonant for me. Thank you for posting it.