Recalled to Life
though Death deserved
tugs insistent on your well-worn knees,
kissing the sanctuary floor,
sticking to the dust
from which you came, to which
you will return, for
die you must–a prerequisite
to hear the call and rise
in that assurance of pardon,
in that open window, pouring
“blessing until there is no more need” like
sunshine pooling on the floor where the
toddler rolls with squinted eyes, his fists,
his toes uncurling in delight. Confess each
week, each day
your failings. Divest yourself
of pretense, of pride. Be hollow
enough to hold forgiveness–that warmth
piercing through Death’s clenched fist,
and Life will open you, a conduit of
communicable grace,
of resurrection surety.