Sunrise

The same wind blows

the smell of burning ashes

back to the dead,

back to the stones.

Busy, crawling worker ants

and constant spider, spinning out the web,

Dreary, shadowed by the tomb—

shadow of death.

An aging man sits praying in a coat,

More slender than a stem of frozen ice

with grief like waves and crashing foam and surf,

tears long re-echoed round the nearby tombs.

A shaft of light! Red and gold,

a thousand flaming, flinging fingers long,

a dozen scores and finally endless praise.

A prayer received before a sea of glass.

And from the center of death’s hall:

the Light of Life.

All those who know your power Lord, all by Your grace arranged

Will never perish, but will live. And finally…be changed. 

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