Easter morning. A triptych of Easter poems I’ve composed over the years, “Morning, breath”, “After the tomb”, and “Death’s death.”

Most of us have heard the story. Now, we must learn again how to breath…

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Morning, breath

As morning reaches where only night had been,

dew once more settles on the brittle earth

and breath returns to one,

so all can breathe again.

After the tomb

When blood, still damp, soaked through

the sleeves of shrug-shoulder’d men,

did you cry for their laughter?

Were your accusers held in sleep

when Mary’s shaking hands

held fast your plundered feet?

How long before bewildered men

and doting women find again

their reasons for remonstrance?

Will a miracle suffice

to fill the gaps in minds too young

not to lust for proof?

Were the angels surprised

to find their silenced songs

reignited for their fittest subject?

Did you know these…