He will rise again
But what of me?
What of me?
Though death flaps down to take me like a huge black bird
Casting ragged shadows over lilies of the valley
Over milky moonlit seas
Sunrise glory
Sunset flame
Peach and pearl in Galilean skies
The coolness of a woman’s hand
Children’s eyes
The rasp of rough-grained wood against the skin
Light in the gaze of men, who, by a miracle of faith, have seen
Heard, walked, talked
Discovered that their pitted skin is whole and clean
Sabbath walks, meandering through rolling fields of wheat
The chattering and chuckling of my friends
Their sweet naivety
A scent of cooking fish
The call to eat
Old stories by the fire
Good wine
A kiss
Love and wisdom in my mother’s smile
The tears of those who loved me much
Because I gently, fiercely took away their sin
And will I rise again?
Indeed, the son of man must rise and live once more
But what of me?
What of me?