Easter Road

The gone aren’t gone

anywhere other

than deeper into God

who asks us

to disbelieve our eyes

can tell us everything

about presence and absence

and to listen to the first

lesson of our bodies,

the work of our hands

reaching out for love

and nourishment from

a universe of unknowns

in next rooms that could be

palaces or sheds. It doesn’t

matter because everything

is fragile along the edges,

half-air, half-something-not-air,

disappearing, returning, and 

refusing to stay in line

as souls are said to do

when they forget to close 

the door behind them.

And why would they? Why

would they when finally light

isn’t just a glow glimpsed

from a distant window

of cherished remembrances?

It’s the nearness we’ve known

about all our lives rising like

another sunrise inside us.

Simply acknowledging that

such exists, and is always

happening, remakes the world.