Sunday, March 1, 2009
The First of March
The lace of heaven began falling.
Huge crystalline flakes of purest white
floating softly downward.
The sloping lawn, deeply covered.
A purple-robed cross standing silent, empty.
Gentle layering of lace on wood, in folds of fabric.
As though the Heavens, too joyful to witness
the naked pain and solitude,
Quietly set about clothing in white raiment
the device of our salvation.
Impatient for the cleansing of Easter.