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Poetry

03/21/2018

Gerald Schmitz

 

Easter



Christ is always raised on the tree
and we are always
falling asleep
only to awaken
nailed on both sides.
But still breathing into
more than this.

Yes, slowly breathing
into that space
where longing rises
to emptiness and opens wide to
the warm wind from the east
and songs of grace coming
softly from the trees,
flowing over the ground.

Ah! Much more
still to come;
much.

By Michael Dallaire