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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

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