Monday, March 25, 2013


I think of you
on this quiet day
as I walk
through  grass
under skies grey.

On the cherry tree
I  touch hard crowns
poised to burst
to new fruit
hard and round
for fierce
to devour.

But this is your hour.

On another tree
you wait for me
as burning skies
blast your eyes
and living blood falls
in bitter drops
to sacrilegious ground.

O, lift your dying gaze
to heaven’s bright gate!
Pull forth flowing faith
from your soul’s
deepest core.

Though you seem
to be all alone,
I’ll pray for you
at last to find
the golden way
to go back home;

for the Father hears
every prayer
and opens
every door.

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