07 August 2009


Even the light that flows from your hands falls,
bends around a heavy star,
gets trapped making a cavern warm, gutters and
goes out.

But you rise, eternal up-and-gone of human prayer,
you who promise
us a flesh like yours, making light look thick and slow.

For now we have
a body's diurnal dawn and rest, rhythmic like
the rise and fall
of hammer on a nail's head, making our red life
flow like yours.

*Gregory Fruehwirth

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