a poem
I woke this morning to an ache my bones;
a crushing, suffocating, squeeze of grief diffused.
Riding that bright line of beauty
brings tears.
Is that why Jesus cried?
Joy rides our wounds.
Burn it out! Burn it out!
No. No. No.
And
no.
Puncture the pain, tears leak
from my hands;
watering everything I touch.
A sober worship of sacrifice, ash, and blood.
Honoring the passed with heart water.
Sacred water.
Bone water washes the earth bones;
brilliant granite a sparkling canvas
painted with fingertip tears.
The dark leaks out,
flows clear, then
finally I bleed clean.
It hurts to touch the earth.