Air, Hope, Love and Magdala

Sad breath of April, and hot noon, when at 3 PM, a cross stands in Golgotha
Whipped and lashed scars bleed, there is flesh and skin
Now here today, what has changed?
When you still mock and strut your wicked, wicked ways
I saw they were too proud to do the parade, they thought was mardi gras – and so before the holy Wednesday – the party and blast of dancing in the streets
Across time, waved leaves on air – the breath of noon still hot and waiting
So incomplete and insincere – like the dust on my forehead
Not solemn and free – unlike the kites
The highways are empty and gleaming hot, April heat blows air
Until Sunday – at dawn in a baby’s crying I awake leaping in joy
going to the tomb –
The altar is a tomb where all the dead rise and pray here.
Moments of solitude all creatures work until eternity
He is risen.
And so like Magdala – I anoint perfume  –
feet, thighs, loin, body, his face and hair
They’re cold but the daze in his eyes gets warm in my heart
The air has changed – it is foggy yellow and cool white ice
The baby smiles, the son cradles the baby, and I – a mother of the air, pours all the perfume in the wood, on him – so all will awake from slumber,
Salvation is here, from the cross, and the rising Christ!

/for our Lord of the Resurrection, at dawn

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