7-23 Son Day

When I have enough sense to focus and fix upon our triune God, this occurs:


Pax Christi


Good Friday is over, its requiem.

Your sacred soul, piercéd by hate—

We celebrate each Passover.

This death and darkness? You obliterate!


Saturday: Bradford Pears and Dogwoods bloom;

Serenades of songbirds resonate.

The hour of nails, of bloody gloom

Is dead. Your sacred heart:


I contemplate.


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