easter

 

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

in.

And Jesus lives

again

And we live

again.

I have seen it.

 

 

 

 

to your rising,

Amy