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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