Tag Archive | empty tomb

That Folded Head Cloth


Momentous rising,

shuffling off the stench

of death; the world a-tilt;

a cosmic shining in that soiled

empty sheet, spices strewn across the barren

floor; life undying bursting

through the cloth once tightly

shrouding our mortality.


And that lone head cloth,

folded, tidy, set apart,

quiet in a shining

all its own, whisper of divine

attentiveness to the minutiae

of our lives, quotidian patterns,

daily tasks that shape our days; hint

of holy presence, quiet glow

in all the foldings and unfoldings

of our tidy, not-so-tidy everydays.

Through a Glass Brightly

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 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

I Corinthians 13:12 (KJV)

Sun opens my face on a bright,

clear day and sings me the promise—

I can see forever, can really know who I am! 

But truth be told, there is so much

I cannot see; so much I do not know:

who am I really, and why am I here?

and will the meek really inherit the earth?  

what songs do the grasses sing

in the night? and what lies beyond

the margins of time, framed as it is by dense

and darkly misted glass?


So much I cannot see;

so much I do not know;

but now and then a shard of light

will pierce that opaque glass, and fleeting

images, rose-bright, will tremble

on the edges of my mind: our cosmos

wrapped around a cross; star-life bursting

from a rock-tomb emptied of its corpse;

images that whisper hope that someday

I will know, be fully known, dark shadows

faded from the mysteries of now.