At the eclipse, the birds fall
silent, the earth shrugs its mantle
of shadows close; death comes
easily, a simple matter of forgiving all
that life still owes

Resurrection rises with the spring
equinox sun pressing home its higher vantage.
The very rock unfurls; the tomb is warmed;
salt dissolves; the taste of something
almost forgotten

The night before, the world turned still
toward its winter moon, the garden chill
with sleep, shifting friends face down
dreams of betrayal, torches burn a false dawn.
The hardest is to stay, still

This entry was posted in poetry, prayer and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Still

  1. Pingback: Wednesday Festival: Lenten Living | RevGalBlogPals

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