The same wind blows

the smell of burning ashes

back to the dead,

back to the stones.

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Busy, crawling worker ants

and constant spider, spinning out the web,

Dreary, shadowed by the tomb—

shadow of death.

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An aging man sits praying in a coat,

More slender than a stem of frozen ice

with grief like waves and crashing foam and surf,

tears long re-echoed round the nearby tombs.

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A shaft of light! Red and gold,

a thousand flaming, flinging fingers long,

a dozen scores and finally endless praise.

A prayer received before a sea of glass.

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And from the center of death’s hall:

the Light of Life.

All those who know your power Lord, all by Your grace arranged

Will never perish, but will live. And finally…be changed. 

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