Rites of passage

~

The moon is a pale sliver

of the bloody morning sky

I feel the wistful spirits peering

from behind its silver skirt

               yearning for color         giving themselves names

whispering to be heard

~

please touch me Jesus

I need to know the surrender

of a compassionate man

before my proud body animal

births this new flesh

Amen

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

sunrise moon

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

~

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