Friday, April 18, 2014



On this day, I sit so still
As if I’m stalking the earth.
It is a good Friday, any way you slice it.
My eyes open and close to sunlight
And shadow-then wind and stillness.
With early clouds floating by,
 I tune in to songbirds and wait
For new colorful wings to arrive.
 Sun hits my legs, hot and burning,
 Till a breeze returns, cools me
And flips the pages of my opened book.
 Spring endures, regardless of what I believe
 On this breezy Friday before Easter.
 In a straw lined bowl on the counter,
The hardboiled eggs, dyed and arranged
 Wait to be tapped and rolled on Sunday
Uncovering the opaque white that protects
The golden prize inside.


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