When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Psalm 126:1
light slants through
—and rub their eyes.
Slip bare feet onto the carpet,
yesterday crusted and thin.
Today feet fall so slightly softer
upon the first coat of Lamb’s blood,
of Yes, Lord.
A glance up
toward the—how many is it now?
Let’s call it the first
of the seventy times seven.
Later, they will eat spoonfuls of grace with their cereal,
find forgiveness in their dryer sheets.
Last Friday, Jesus prayed that we would all be one.
light bulbs buzz laments.
They sit at the loom
tying frayed ends,
weaving the tapestry that is their marriage.
Tear it out.
A three-row day.
They do not notice the thread,
a new color becoming more prominent:
the prayers of people they do not know.
Exhausted, wordless, they fall to bed, to sleep,
unaware of the loosening grave clothes.
It is only the first day,
and two long nights
before the third morning.
Holy eyelids flutter.