the fog hides in the hollows
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11:30
ghost falls
with skies of ash and waters of snow
we wonder where does the river go
limericky
there was a young woman who said
“it’s happened! the thing that i dread!”
at dawn
at dawn death rolled back
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love lies bleeding
my love lies in darkness
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thorn
in the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill
clean
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.
the only son (and his mother)
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
the Lamb of God chased
the money changers out of
the temple.
palm sunday
the crowd gathers in,
eager, excited, waiting
for the arrival
of the champion.