A Different Kind Of Darkness

It is work to pause
In the darkness,
To stay here waiting
While death takes its toll,
And the depths are plumbed
Without protest.
I am a
Spectator, not a
Participant, in this clash,
Receiving all the spoil
And anticipating the
Coming moment
When the Heart of love
Will take its first victory beat.
And the stirring under the linen will
Signal mountains to sing and
Molecules to dance.
And the shroud will have been merely
The birth blanket,
The darkness only that of the secret places,
Pregnant with hope and glory.


Darkness Among The Dogwood


Mourning dove on a front porch,
Says with her eyes,
Her implacable, light-ringed eyes,

Yes, I made a mess
Building this nest.
The pangs were upon me, and

My nest-mess is the herald
Of Easter,
Of passion and pain.
In a corner of the cornice,
I hide my life,
Against the roaring of the foe,
Who stalks like a blight,
A darkness among dogwood,
A hatred complete.

This piercing is a deep breath
Inhaled for the victory shout.

I am the covering;
I will die for life.