Death and Transfiguration

I rub my tired eye and feel the bare
And sleepless socket that the eye is in.
It scares me that the skull is actually there,
That death is so familiar as within.
Whichever way one combs his failing hair,
There is this bald and lanky manikin
Who will not stop his confident grin and stare
As though Christ died for only half of sin.
Sometimes when troubled to the quick of sense
Because the hours do not answer faith,
I reconsider flesh and its offense–
This third thing after counting bones and wraith–
And vow to live for wraith alone, and yet
Whenever your face is toward me, I forget.

–October 9, 1998

(“Death and Transfiguration” appeared in the Early Spring 2005 issue of The Blue Mouse, Cypress CA.)

Published on January 28, 2007 at 3:03 pm  Leave a Comment  

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