my posture shaped by the chair I sit in
back straight, slightly tilted back
broad enough for my fullness to sit in half lotus
in front of the window
this easter morning
smell of sulphur lingers long after the smoke of a lit match
becomes one with the air
thousands of particles to breath in, land later, to rise to the occasion.
The Sacred breathes in, gathering all of creation
every last atom
And Jesus lives
And we live
I have seen it.
to your rising,