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A Spoonful of Resurrection

Each morning

when I roll over

and open the corner of one eye

and the light wiggles through like an impatient child,

my first thought is of you.

A small prayer separates my lips:

for a sprinkling of fairy dust

that I might rise from these wrinkled sheets

and leave a night of old death;

to taste a spoon full of resurrection.

And, if not too much to ask,

that as I begin to stand,

my arched back might

be green amidst brown grass

surprising a stranger passing by.

(photo by Ed Siderewicz)

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