Holy Week Triptych

As if in a dream I see your silhouette
framed against the impassive
moon and cold, distant stars.

I would reach out for you,
but I am merely a shadow,
a phantom of no real substance.

My spirit is willing to rise but
my sleep-dulled flesh is held fast
in its sandy cradle.

You call for me but, incapable
of speech, my answer dies
on my lips unspoken.

Now your voice haunts my waking:
Can you not watch with me
a little while?

With Truth pinned against the sky,
screaming sunlight struggles and fails.
airless

Suspended time compresses,
reels backwards, stops.
breathless

Day becomes a
shadow.
still

One by one guardian stars
Extinguish their beacons
And yield to the exuberant
Brightness of the waking Sun.

A newborn world basks in
Reconciling light – opening,
Blooming, exulting in the
Victorious dawn.

The air awakens and comes alive,
Shaking off stagnant sleep
Stirring the trees to sing
Once again.

Night lies in ruins: death-dark
Grip broken, its shortening
Shadows vainly seek refuge
In an empty tomb.