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



sunrise moon



photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/jdub1980/8366582629/”</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;