Beyond Me, This Empty Grave

So many of the people I love and admire
Pass lightly to and fro between dimensions,
Parting filmy curtains as if between rooms.

I seem a gardener for them,
Kneeling, kneading the stone,
Up to elbows in lime and sand,
Seeking a lost circuit
Mankind could use for a garden light
In setting sun,
In setting cement.

"Where have you put him?" they ask,
Meaning Jesus.

Where the Aurora Borealis Sings

What I see up North,
That cold winter country
Where men seldom go,
Everywhere an unsullied profusion,
The organization of God,
A wisdom whispered from one day
To the next,
From  wind on snow mantled peaks,
Every night learning it
From the night before,
Mountains nestled in it's purity,
Valley meadows for elk and caribou,
It's gentleness in  rivers
of salmon teeming silence
Between stars.

The Saint

You are a saint.
By this I mean you are
Fully realized,
There is a king in you
and a kingdom,
A Golgatha of broken dreams,
A Calvary of great love,
An empty tomb.

The Bride

There is a beautiful bride
Who is getting herself ready.
She is set aside and loyal
Kind and pure.
Her betrothed has sent her
many gifts.

She has not seen him,
Her lover,
But in visions and dreams,
She sees and hears him,
In stillness, songs of water
and wind, in paragraphs
From his letters,
And poems,

She sweetly believes
He is coming for her.

She practices patience,
Watches for signs,
Re-reads his promises,
And because he is faithful,
She will not be disappointed.