From (his) ashes, I will arise
shake off the shadows
collect the cracked crucible
this unmirrored, marred
collection of bones and
impossible veins, blood
so vain it hides deep
within the withering
From (his) silence, I will arise
my voice lost shall be found
a whisper to a roar
that requires no oceans, no sky
no one's ears or eyes
but my own, imperfect
though they may have become
From (his) heart, I will arise
halved as well as whole
forgiven, flesh blessed
by broken rosary beads
old prayers recited, repeated
nightly by somebody's mother
scarcely still, so late in the game
no one wins or loses
From (his) voice, I will arise
words and phrases in freefall
are swept away like rubble
like rust, darkening no more
the doorways, the chair needing glue
all of this will lift, dissipate
drifting like dissonant clouds
miles above this leaking roof
You who have asked for
a widow's lament, a fairy tale
know so little of my world
my small and large struggles
my inconsistencies, and yet
in this sun slanted moment
there is not a silence in my heart
his voice forever fills and breaks it
reQuest 2018