Easter

Between an egg and the cross I pause for a beginning Quite different from my loss Clean as a new born leaf From a sprig of God I am now the fallen sheaf And he coming like my spring Bring dead buds to life From his blood, the saving King Deters the looming knife Hoarding everything I kept The hardened fruit and thickened cell Separating me from the vine The fiery colors bore nothing but promised hell While silvern waters gurgle at my feet Aloft in the brimstone air He lifted to cross the oestrus could not dream The wrenching agony Or the precarious teetering The final exultation of his pain But I love better Sunday morning The flower coming from his rest And the hope of the King's returning The triumph song of the blest Easter is a twisted story vanishing the day Frivolous little bunnies and pagan dreams Of cash registers piled furnace with brimming hay Let me disengage, a fallen leaf I am nothing but beauty in the mulch And yet some leaf grows like wings Gathering light And energy, making the flight Of hope a better resurrection than spring. by David Smalling