Easter—Good Friday

If I met eternity in your face,
picked it up on these lonely receptors,
brought it to you with cupped hands,
played it for you on this mandolin,
sang it to you on the stoop,
while the dog slept and all
the trees leaned in the yard,
would you laugh and dance
and lose yourself in light?

I see how you suffer
to watch love struggle to happen
in hearts, hard, dark and blue.
I see how morning upon morning,
carrying your incense and lamp,
you come to sit at the gate
and how like leaven you wait
to rise in the face of a passer
like me.


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