at dawn death rolled back
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a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
at dawn death rolled back
Read Moremy love lies in darkness
Read Morein the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill
i finally got my feet washed.
they were sore from a day
of running and standing still,
of impatience and veiled pride,
and i wondered, as i sat in the pew,
whether the one who washed them
would be able to smell the sweat
from my socks and shoes.
i read about a mother
who had an only son
cut down in his prime,
just north of 33.
she stood at his graveside
weeping, watering
the freshly-dug earth
with her tears, waiting.
the Lamb of God chased
the money changers out of
the temple.
the crowd gathers in,
eager, excited, waiting
for the arrival
of the champion.
ten trees arrived in the mail today
their tender trunks scarcely more than twigs
but already I was imagining the bank
of white blossoms in the spring —
hawthorne, dogwood, crab —
and the pale hellebores i’d bought
that would start blooming in the snow
yesterday i heard a voice beyond my window calling
“sweetheart! sweetheart! sweetheart!”
with a brightness undiminished by the numbing cold.
Who will lift the shroud of night
heaven’s light fresh to reveal
overcome death’s with’ring blight
deign our wounded hearts to heal?