Briton Riviere: Christ In the Wilderness
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http://www.1st-art-gallery.com/Briton-Rivi%E3%A8re/Christ-In-The-Wilderness,-1898.html
After I thought a while it seemed clear
it wasn’t the yap, yap, buzz, ring, chat
that drove him away from the city.
Nor the police alarm yaw-yahing
saying danger or someone hurts.
It was the hands. Hands reaching
to touch his face, his hands, head.
Hand to rub his belly or grip his shoulder.
Hands coming from above, or below,
little squirts tugging at his clothes.
Once away into the hidden places
where no one lives the animals peeked
so further he went, seeking grit
to rub against, hard stone for bed,
the cold of stars above in the night.
A place where lizards basked from afar--
other survivors looking for a drink of water,
a drink of alone to coil within breast,
for weariness to weight the legs
heart pumping alone, be still, find grace
with the end of the tolling bells.
Where self is a light to breathe upon
let flare into true soul, the space
where heart flares out like a beacon
for all to hold and when you’re ablaze
there’s none to say they are you they.
Just peace. Belief. Tomorrow rising
with a hunger that goes beyond feed
goes beyond trust, goes beyond life
to a beauty amazed to find where once
having found blaze it never goes out
ready to hand out and hand out.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
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