By late afternoon light has dropped to the dark side
where Kidron’s grease fires flicker and spark
and our virtues lay frozen in a dry blackened sun.
Then spring breaks again over Eden,
and the visage tremendum is my brother’s brow.
He’s at compost now.
Eleison! Good morning to you, growing roses
and corn from the confidence under your feet!
Salvation, spaded, appears in red bud,
from a tender green nip: first a blade rises thin
through a soft, willing thaw, then radiance wakes
to ride high, like a prince, on the live marching ray
of the first working day.