Before Easter
This morning, eight water birds fly
from the skin of the mist,
the redbirds and sparrows are here as well,
I know it is the forty days of grace.
The water birds, the ocean of waves,
the salt taste on the lips, the fish
multiplying to feed the world.
The ground shakes, it moves beneath my feet,
the green sky lights the dawn, the lanterns flare
towards the Savior.
Angels settle down for tea, gathering martyrs,
even the grave diggers that call the lions
with teeth open, horns blowing
across the Red Sea.
I hear them digging under the house
leaving footprints in the yard,
they keep brushing against the screen door
unsettling the cat on the back porch.
Deep in the shade I feel the earth stir,
growing light from the iron nails.
The Spirit passes beyond the city limits of morning,
even as the wind touches my face with a holy kiss.
A flock of heron pours from the sky.
This morning, eight water birds fly
from the skin of the mist,
the redbirds and sparrows are here as well,
I know it is the forty days of grace.
The water birds, the ocean of waves,
the salt taste on the lips, the fish
multiplying to feed the world.
The ground shakes, it moves beneath my feet,
the green sky lights the dawn, the lanterns flare
towards the Savior.
Angels settle down for tea, gathering martyrs,
even the grave diggers that call the lions
with teeth open, horns blowing
across the Red Sea.
I hear them digging under the house
leaving footprints in the yard,
they keep brushing against the screen door
unsettling the cat on the back porch.
Deep in the shade I feel the earth stir,
growing light from the iron nails.
The Spirit passes beyond the city limits of morning,
even as the wind touches my face with a holy kiss.
A flock of heron pours from the sky.