Poem: Garden Tomb

Garden tomb

Garden Tomb

Where started the idea of sleep and rest?
Our visit’s work begins to break the locks,
the chains of sin; to send the messengers
of good news. Good news. Now take up this husk,
enshrouded late with haste and love and tears—
oh children, how you little understand—
now take it up again, then home to joy
before the work begins complete, anew.

So gently fold the kerchief from this face—
these wounds remain as touchstones of our grace.
As lightning cracks from earth to cloud to eye,
I take it, perfect; turn to greet the friends
who come to witness these first, glorious fruits,
like shoots that from spring earth rise ripe in bloom.
Unbounded now, to give the glory found
in comfort, teaching, feeding, clasping hands.

Our mercy races faster than the light
to turn the axis of the Earth from death
to victory through freely offered love,
not comprehended now, but on that day,
to shine for us and ours from east to west,
as all knees bow and every tongue confess
and we embrace our friends and claim our own:
Roll back that insubstantial, time-bound stone.

Lisa Bolin Hawkins
Sunstone 15:5:25 (November 1991)

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