About resurrections
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Mounting up as on the wings of eagles
at last, at a trumpet blast,
millions of faces,
mind-boggling many
too much to contemplate
So downscale the vision
Think of the pattern on the wings of a red-admiral butterfly,
or the harmonious sculpting of a single bluebell,
or the stillness of unruffled water on a lake…
walking through a desert, I saw a shadow
quiet moving along beside
turning to look, I saw nothing;
so I sang.
Have stored up many words,
turning them over,
playing with shape and sound
on I go
through the desert